THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

PRESENTED  BY 

PROF. CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 

MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

A  Novel 


BY 
HENRY  HUDSON,  V> 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

(3Ebe  fitoer?ibc  ifiTtif  Cambribge 
1920 


COPYRIGHT,   192O,  BY  HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
ALL    RIGHTS   RESERVED 


Aki. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 


CHAPTER  I 

"Ee-oh,  ee-oh!"  sang  Claire,  using  a  familiar  family 
call  and  knocking  at  Jamie's  door:  "Are  you  ready?" 

"Half  a  jiff!"   a  voice   answered,  adding  at  once, 
"Come  in!" 

:  Claire  opened  the  door  and  advanced  into  Jamie's 
small  hall  room.  His  bed  took  up  the  width  of  it  not 
occupied  by  the  door,  making  a  narrow  passage,  but  be- 
yond its  foot  stood  the  bureau,  and  by  the  window,  an 
arm-chair  and  a  small  table.  A  few  books  lay  on  the 
table  and  Jamie's  ash-tray  which  was  always  untidily 
full  of  cigarette  ends.  Some  framed  colored  prints  of 
various  types  of  feminine  beauty  adorned  the  walls,  and 
a  private's  khaki  army  cap  hung  on  one  corner  of  the 
bed.  Jamie  was  standing  before  the  bureau,  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves, carefully  combing  his  black  hair  straight  back 
from  his  forehead.  He  took  so  long  about  it  that  Claire 
sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed.  She  was  in  her  coat 
and  hat,  ready  for  the  street.  Presently  she  raised  her 
head  and  sniffed,  saying: 

"What's  the  stuff  you've  been  using  on  your  hair 
lately?  Do  hurry  up  Jamie!" 

Jamie,  not  satisfied  with  the  effect  he  had  produced, 


M309293 


4  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

had  combed  it  straight  down  over  his  eyes,  and  was 
beginning  again. 

"There's  loads  of  time,  Claire!  How  did  you  know 
I  was  using  anything?" 

"I  always  know!  I  can  smell  it,  of  course!  Oh, 
Jamie,  please!"  for  Jamie  had  combed  his  hair  down 
once  more.  He  turned  and  looked  at  Claire  reproach- 
fully, his  comb  suspended  above  his  head. 

"Now  don't  make  me  nervous,  Claire,  or  it'll  take 
twice  as  long!" 

Claire  relapsed  into  silence  while  Jamie  worked  in- 
dustriously, until  finally,  surveying  himself  critically  in 
the  glass,  he  exclaimed,  "Bing!"  emphatically,  meaning 
to  convey  the  information  that  everything  was  now  to 
his  satisfaction,  and  immediately  began  to  put  on  his 
coat.  He  turned  once  more  to  the  glass,  took  a  final  tug 
at  his  cravat,  and  asked: 

"Don't  you  like  the  smell  of  it?" 

"Yes,  if  it  is  n't  too  strong,"  answered  Claire,  getting 
up.   "Where  did  you  get  it,  and  where 's  your  hat?" 

"Down  on  the  hat-rack!  Come  along!  Mallette 
brought  it  from  i  England  with  him.  He  sold  me  two 
bottles  of  it." 

"Who is  Mallette?"  asked  Claire.  "I  never  heard  of 
him  before!" 

"Oh,  yes,  I've  mentioned  him  often!"  Jamie  an- 
swered as  they  descended  the  stairs.  "I  met  him  com- 
ing back  on  the  boat.  Shall  I  carry  a  stick?" 

"If  you  want  to,  why  not?" 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  5 

"I  love  to  carry  one,  but  hardly  anybody  does  it  any 
more!"  And  Jamie  hesitated. 

Claire  laughed  joyously. 

"Oh,  Jamie !  You  silly  boy !  Carry  it  if  you  want  to ! " 

Jamie  hesitated  again. 

"No,  I  don't  think  I  shall!"  And,  seizing  the  knob 
of  the  front  door,  he  turned  it.  Claire  passed  through, 
Jamie  followed,  and,  running  down  the  steps  together, 
they  began  walking  toward  Fifth  Avenue. 

The  world  which  they  had  come  out  into  immediately 
produced  in  Claire  an  extraordinary  sense  of  happiness 
and  well-being.  The  pavement  on  which  they  walked 
lay  in  a  kind  of  obscurity,  but  across  the  way  the  serried 
ranks  of  houses,  cut  through  at  intervals  by  intersecting 
streets,  glowed  mildly  in  a  flood  of  sunshine  which 
cast  gray  and  violet  shadows.  The  sounds  of  the  city, 
after  the  last  days  of  winter  just  past,  had  lately  taken 
on  a  different  character,  more  suave,  mellow,  and  in- 
gratiating. The  distant  stages  on  the  Avenue,  the  de- 
livery wagons,  the  motors,  the  butchers'  boys,  pushing 
their  small  carts,  the  cats,  the  dogs,  the  horses,  the 
people  coming  out  of  houses  and  going  into  them,  the 
maids  in  print  dresses  stealing  a  look  aloft  from  area 
doorways  at  the  benignant  masses  of  floating  clouds, 
seemed  to  have  become  endowed  with  added  and  un- 
expected qualities  of  friendliness  and  amity,  which 
aroused  in  Claire,  as  she  inhaled  the  soft  air,  a  sweet 
sense  of  ineffable  joy  at  the  thought  that  she  too  lived, 
was  wrapped  up  in  life,  was  part  of  it,  was  alive  to  its 


6  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

enthralling  fascinations,  its  mysteries,  its  eternal  spell. 
For  the  war  was  over  and  life  was  becoming  beautiful 
once  more.  Each  day  Claire  repeated  this  last  sentence 
to  herself  although  nearly  six  months  had  passed  since 
hostilities  had  ceased. 

All  at  once  Jamie  remarked: 

"There's  no  use  walking  so  fast,  Claire!" 

Claire  laughed  again,  suddenly  aware  that  they  had 
been  fairly  rushing  through  the  street. 

"What  time  is  it,  Jamie?" 

"Only  half -past  twelve!  The  concert  begins  at  two, 
so  you  see  we  have  loads  of  time!  Where  shall  we 
lunch?  Down  here  somewhere?" 

"No,  Jamie;  let's  have  a  real  spree  to-day  and  go  to 
Sherry's!" 

"But,  I  say,  I'm  hard  up!"  remonstrated  Jamie. 

"Then  you  shall  lunch  with  me!  I  feel  rich  to-day! 
I  got  a  dividend  this  morning!" 

"So  did  I,"  answered  Jamie,  "but  I  owe  it  all! 
Sherry's  it  is,  then!  There's  a  stage!"  And  at  once, 
and  in  spite  of  Jamie's  protestations  at  Claire's  speed, 
they  started  running,  madly  furiously,  as  if  their  lives 
depended  on  their  catching  that  particular  one.  They 
dodged  motors,  whistled,  signaled,  and  finally  scrambled 
on  board,  breathless  and  laughing. 

"Inside?"  asked  Jamie. 

"No!  Of  course  not!"  Claire  sprang  up  the  little 
stairway,  Jamie  following,  and  presently  they  found 
themselves  seated  on  a  front  bench,  with  the  long  majes- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  7 

tic  panorama  of  the  Avenue  moving  slowly  past  them, 
the  far-off  point  of  its  converging  cliffs  receding  always 
as  they  advanced.  Like  their  own  street,  it  lay  half  in 
shadow,  half  in  sunshine.  Moving  distant  objects  spar- 
kled momentarily  through  the  haze  lifted  from  the  pave- 
ments by  the  turmoil  of  traffic  and  the  exhalations  of 
motors.  An  enormous,  obscure,  and  continuous  move- 
ment filled  the  roadway  between  the  cliffs,  from  end 
to  end  of  their  vision,  until  their  eyes  reached,  far 
away,  the  immobility  of  distance. 

"It's  beautiful,  is  n't  it,  Jamie!"  cried  Claire,  ecstati- 
cally. 

"Pretty  good,"  answered  Jamie;  "but  it  can't  com- 
pare with  London  from  the  top  of  a  bus;  after  they  let 
me  out  of  hospital  I  spent  my  whole  time  on  the  tops  of 
busses.  It  never  opens  out  here  so  that  you  can  see 
anything.  You  're  always  shut  in  between  these  beastly 
buildings ! " 

"But  that's  beautiful  too!  It's  like  a  canyon  with 
precipices  on  either  side!" 

"But  I  don't  like  precipices!" 

"You're  mad  about  everything  that  has  to  do  with 
London !  Even  to  the  smelly  stuff  you  use  on  your  hair, 
Jamie ! " 

"You  can't  get  it  anywhere  but  there ! "  Jamie  jerked 
off  his  hat,  and  inclined  his  head.  "Just  take  a  whiff  and 
see  if  it  does  n't  smell  good ! " 

Claire  did  so. 

"Yes,  it  does!"  she  admitted. 


8  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"Mallette  says  they  send  it  to  English  officers  all  over 
the  world!" 

"But  who  is  Mr.  Mallette,  Jamie?  You  haven't  told 
me!" 

"Oh,  he's  a  star,  Claire!"  exclaimed  Jamie  with  en- 
thusiasm.  '  *  You  must  meet  him ! " 

"A  theatrical  star?" 

"No,  that's  just  an  expression!  But  he  is  an  actor! 
He  has  n't  been  for  very  long.  He 's  been  here  with  one 
of  the  British  purchasing  missions.  He  was  a  captain. 
He  got  his  discharge  only  a  little  while  ago." 

"He's  English,  I  suppose." 

"Yes  —  well,  laugh  if  you  want  to,  but  he's  awfully 
clever  and  interesting.  I  want  him  to  do  a  musical  com- 
edy with  me.   I'm  working  on  one  of  the  lyrics  now!" 

" That  sentimental  thing  you  've  been  playing  lately?  " 

Jamie  flushed,  and  Claire,  noticing  it,  exclaimed  con- 
tritely: "I  did  n't  mean  that,  Jamie.  I've  hardly  heard 
it!" 

"That's  all  right!"  Jamie  answered. 

"Will  you  play  it  to  me,  Jamie?" 

Jamie  smiled  his  sweet  smile  and  answered,  "Yes." 

Claire  moved  closer  to  him  and  murmured,  "Oh, 
Jamie,  you're  such  a  dear!" 

"Rot!"  answered  Jamie. 

"I  hurt  your  feelings!" 

"It  probably  is  sentimental !  I  want  you  to  tell  me ! " 

Claire  moved  still  closer  to  him,  and  putting  an  arm 
through  his,  they  sat  without  speaking.  Above  the  build- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  9 

ings  an  occasional  flag  floated  translucently,  high  in  the 
free  air.  Out  of  the  distant,  obscure  turmoil  ahead,  the 
sun  struck  each  moment,  moving  flashes  of  light,  and  a 
roar  of  sound  rose,  rebounding  from  wall  to  wall  of  the 
precipices,  which  here,  at  the  noon  hour,  confined,  on 
packed  pavements  between  their  granite  bases,  black 
masses  of  stunted,  sweatshop  workers.  Their  stage, 
swaying  slightly,  pushed  aside  the  surrounding  torrent 
and  pressed  steadily  forward. 

"What's  it  about,  Jamie?"   Claire  asked  presently. 

"The  plot  is  laid  in  Pekin,"  answered  Jamie,  "and 
there's  a  waltz  movement  running  all  through  it,  like 
this!"  Jamie  turned  and  began  to  hum  a  waltz,  close  to 
Claire's  ear,  at  the  same  time  spreading  his  hands  above 
his  knees  and  going  through  the  pantomime  of  a  piano 
accompaniment. 

"That 's  pretty,  Jamie.  But  don't  you  have  to  under- 
stand orchestration?" 

"Oh,  no!  You  hire  somebody  to  do  that.  The  main 
thing  is  to  get  good  lyrics.   I'll  play  them  for  you." 

"I'd  love  to  hear  them!  You  must  do  something 
very  original,  Jamie,  so  that  everybody  will  go  to  see  it. 
I'm  sure  you  can.   You  really  are  talented!" 

"I  don't  know  about  that,  Claire,  but  I'm  going  to 
try.  And,  Claire,  there 's  no  use  in  thinking  about  my 
going  to  Paris ! " 

Claire  turned  quickly. 

"Why  not?" 

"I  spoke  to  Uncle  Edward  about  it." 


10  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"He  did  n't  approve!" 

"He  wouldn't  even  discuss  it!    You  know  how  he 


is." 


"I'll  speak  to  him,  Jamie!  Shall  I?" 

"I  wish  you  would,  only  it  won't  make  any  difference, 
Claire." 

Jamie  sat  silent  for  a  moment  plainly  depressed,  and 
then  exclaimed: 

"Hello!  there's  George  —  with  a  friend!"  And  he 
waved  a  greeting  to  one  of  two  men  in  bowler  hats  who 
were  seated  on  the  top  of  a  passing  stage,  bound  toward 
Washington  Square.  Claire  waved,  too,  as  did  one  of 
the  men,  while  the  other  bowed  ceremoniously. 

"And  by  the  way,"  Jamie  went  on,  "What  do  you 
think!  I  hear  that  George  is  getting  rich! " 

"How,  Jamie?" 

"He  was  in  a  dozen  things  during  the  war." 

"Who  told  you?  George?" 

"No  fear,"  answered  Jamie.  "He  might  be  afraid  I 'd 
borrow  some  of  it.  A  friend  in  the  Street  told  me ! "      J 

"Why  should  he  be  afraid?  You  have  money  enough 
of  your  own!" 

"Have  I!"  exclaimed  Jamie  derisively. 

"  You  've  two  thousand  a  year !  What  do  you  do  with 
it?" 

"What  don't  I  do  with  it!  Spend  it,  of  course!"  an- 
swered Jamie  with  a  pleasant  sigh.   "  So  many  things — ! " 

"Do  you  really  spend  it  all,  Jamie?" 

"Of  course  I  do!"  answered  Jamie  in  surprise,  as  if 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  11 

that  was  obviously  what  an  income  was  for.  "Don't 
you  spend  yours?" 

"About  half  of  it!" 

"Then  if  I  should  ever  want  — "  began  Jamie  with  a 
significant  leer. 

"Of  course  I  would,  darling!  Do  you  need  some 
now?" 

Claire  was  conscious  of  a  slight  feeling  of  annoyance, 
which  for  a  moment  shadowed  her  perfect  day.  She  ac- 
cepted the  rumor  of  George's  success  without  question, 
because  she  had  a  conviction  that  what  George  set  his 
hand  to  do,  he  would  do.  But  to  be  so  secretive  about 
it!  As  if  everybody  might  immediately  want  some  of  it. 
They  all  had  enough  of  their  own,  and  if  her  darling 
Jamie  should  need  any,  it  would  n't  be  at  all  necessary 
for  him  to  go  to  George !  She  almost  hoped  Jamie  would 
answer  that  he  was  sorely  in  need  of  money  so  that  she 
might  shower  him  with  it,  both  for  the  delight  it  would 
give  her  and  as  a  protest  against  George's  failure  to  take 
the  family  into  his  confidence.  But  Jamie  answered  in 
his  pleasant,  rather  whimsical  voice: 

"That  was  only  in  fun!  I  don't  really  need  any, 
Claire!" 

"Sure?" 

"Sure,  Claire!" 

"Well,  don't  forget,  if  you  ever  should!"  Claire 
pressed  the  electric  button  and  jumped  up.  "Here  we 
are! 

They  rattled  down  the  stairway,  hurried  across  the 


12  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

street,  and,  passing  under  a  glass  and  iron  marquee,  en- 
tered, after  Jamie  had  left  his  hat  at  the  door,  a  spacious 
room  carpeted  with  Turkish  rugs  and  furnished  with  lux- 
urious chairs  and  sofas,  where  a  throng  of  men  and 
women  were  standing  and  sitting  about,  looking  at  one 
another's  clothes,  while  waiting  the  arrival  of  other  men 
and  women  with  whom  they  had  appointments. 

Claire  and  Jamie,  having  appointments  with  no  one, 
made  for  the  door  leading  to  the  restaurant,  and  were 
about  to  go  in  when  they  were  met  by  a  head  waiter  who 
advanced  with  an  interrogative  air  and  informed  them 
that  it  would  be  necessary  to  wait  for  a  few  moments,  as 
all  the  tables  were  taken.  Other  people  were  waiting, 
too,  but  as  Claire  and  Jamie  stepped  back,  an  extremely 
pretty  girl,  well-rouged  and  powdered,  accompanied 
by  a  young  man,  entered  the  restaurant,  disappearing 
quickly  among  the  tables  under  the  guidance  of  another 
waiter  who  was  evidently  escorting  her  to  a  place  al- 
ready engaged.  The  girl  wore  a  low  hat  with  a  broad 
brim,  a  wide  collar  of  sable  across  her  shoulders  in 
spite  of  the  warmth  of  the  day,  a  noticeably  short  skirt, 
very  thin  silk  stockings,  and  very  high-heeled  patent- 
leather  slippers  with  glittering  buckles.  The  height  of 
her  heels  made  her  look  as  if  she  were  walking  on  tiptoe, 
and  the  tilt  they  gave  her  body,  thrusting  it  forward  at 
the  hips,  produced  a  peculiar  mincing  and  exaggerat- 
edly feminine  gait.  As  she  hurried  past  Claire  and  Jamie, 
she  gave  them  an  almost  imperceptible  nod  accompanied 
by  a  smile  of  fixed  and  artificial  sweetness. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  13 

A  sound  indicative  of  irritation  escaped  Jamie,  and 
he  exclaimed  under  his  breath : 

"Helena  looks  more  like  a  chorus  girl  every  day!" 

"She's  awfully  pretty,  Jamie!" 

"So  are  chorus  girls!  They've  got  to  be!  That's 
their  business,  but  there's  no  reason  why  Helena  should 
rouge  and  show  her  legs!" 

"Excepting  that  it's  the  thing  to  do!" 

"Is  it?  Well,  if  it's  the  thing  to  do,  trust  Helena  to 
doit!"  And  as  Claire  had  started  forward  in  response 
to  a  signal  from  the  head  waiter,  he  followed  her  to  a 
small  table  by  a  window  overlooking  Fifth  Avenue. 

They  ordered  their  luncheon  quickly  and  Claire,  lean- 
ing back  in  her  chair,  looked  about  her  at  the  occupants 
of  the  room.  The  women,  irrespective  of  age,  were 
all  dressed  in  almost  precisely  the  same  way,  and  were 
almost  all  good-looking.  Of  the  men  the  younger  could 
be  divided  quickly  into  two  classes,  one  hard-featured, 
the  other  inefficient;  but  the  characteristics  of  the  older 
ones  were  less  marked,  age,  and  habits  of  opulence 
having  worn  them  more  or  less  into  a  general  resem- 
blance. All,  both  men  and  women,  were  eating,  drink- 
ing, or  smoking  exactly  what  they  wished,  with  an 
air  of  indifference  which  seemed  to  say  to  the  waiters 
and  to  each  other,"  You  see  it  does  n't  matter  in  the  least 
what  we  eat,  drink,  or  smoke,  because  we  are  so  well  off 
we  do  not  have  to  consider  such  things."  Plainly,  all 
these  people  lived  lives  of  luxury,  or  wanted  to,  or  tried 
to,  or  endeavored  to  convey  the  impression  that  they  did. 


14  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

With  almost  all  one  would  say,  looking  at  them,  such 
living  was  a  cult,  and  on  the  faces  of  many  was  stamped 
the  conscious  pride  of  material  possessions. 

It  struck  Claire  that  she,  Jamie,  and  all  the  rest  re- 
sembled members  of  some  very  expensive  entomologi- 
cal species  shut  into  a  large  and  beautifully  gilded 
box. 

"Well,  here  we  are  eating  and  drinking  just  if  noth- 
ing out  of  the  common  had  been  happening  in  the  last 
four  years.  What  are  you  smiling  at,  Claire?"  said 
Jamie. 

"I  was  thinking  how  funny  we  would  all  look,  sitting 
about  in  this  lordly  way,  being  waited  on  by  other  very 
obsequious  people,  in  black  tail  coats,  to  some  thor- 
oughly detached  person  who  was  n't  used  to  our  cus- 
toms!" 

"It  is  rather  ludicrous  when  you  come  to  think  of  it," 
responded  Jamie  with  a  chuckle.  "Do  you  know,  that 
sounded  like  Mallette,  although  I  don't  believe  Mallette 
would  think  it  was  funny!" 

"Why  not?"  asked  Claire. 

"He  does  n't  like  most  rich  people. " 

"Why?"  repeated  Claire  in  surprise. 

"  He  says  they  've  no  right  to  exist  unless  they  can  give 
good  reasons." 

"What  nonsense!" 

"Well,  you  should  hear  him  talk.  There's  something 
in  what  be  says!  It's  the  war.  It's  made  him  rather 
savage  about  some  things." 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  15 

"You  seem  thoroughly  mad  about  him,  Jamie.  And 
such  a  name!  Mallette!  What's  his  first  name?" 

"Felix!" 

Claire  laughed  joyously,  principally  because  she  was 
happy,  and  longed  to  laugh,  no  matter  at  what. 

"Felix  Mallette!  What  a  combination!" 

"You  must  meet  him,  Claire." 

"But  when?  Where?  That's  the  second  time  you've 
said  so!" 

Brought  face  to  face  with  a  definite  challenge,  Jamie 
hesitated,  finally  saying: 

"The  trouble  is  he  does  n't  like  meeting  people!" 

"Ask  him  to  tea,  or  to  dinner.  I'm  simply  dying  to 
know  an  actor!" 

"I  have,  but  he  won't  come!" 

"Then  I  'm  afraid  we'll  have  to  give  him  up,  Jamie,  if 
he 's  so  difficult !  Perhaps  he  does  n't  like  meeting  peo- 
ple, unless  he  thinks  they're  distinctly  worth  while!  If 
that's  the  case,  introduce  him  to  Helena." 

"  Oh,  Helena  would  n't  think  him  worth  while;  besides 
they'd  hate  each  other!"  answered  Jamie.  "And  he's 
the  last  man  in  the  world  to  care  about  that  kind  of 
thing!" 

He  occupied  himself  with  luncheon  for  a  moment,  and 
then  remarked :  "But  I  do  wish  Uncle  Edward  would  sell 
our  house,  so  that  we  could  move  farther  uptown!" 

"So  that  we  might  be  more  worth  while?" 

"  Well,  of  course  that  sort  of  thing  is  rot  really,  but 
if  we  did  live  uptown  instead  of  in  Ninth  Street,  and 


16  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

went  about  more,  you  'd  see  how  soon  Helena  and  Aunt 
Adelaide  would  be  coming  around.  Because,  you  know 
after  all,  we've  been  making  money  too." 

"And  you  expect  Aunt  Caroline  to  go  to  all  that 
trouble  just  to  get  into  their  good  graces!"  cried  Claire 
indignantly. 

"Of  course  not ! "  answered  Jamie.  "Who  cares  about 
Helena  or  Aunt  Adelaide !  But  we  are  awfully  out  of  it 
down  there !  You  are  too,  Claire,  and  you  're  too  pretty 
to  be  buried !  Somehow  everything  seems  to  be  moving 
faster  and  faster.  Everybody  got  so  used  to  speeding  up 
during  the  war  that  they  can't  stop.  We  ought  to  speed 
up  a  bit  too." 

"And  if  we  did,  you'd  be  the  very  last  person  to 
change  your  habits,  Jamie!  You'd  spend  your  time 
composing,  and  playing  about  with  your  Bohemian 
friends,  just  as  you've  always  done!" 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  expect  to  be  quite  the  guiding  hand," 
Jamie  answered  cheerfully.  "But  if  anybody  took  the 
lead,  I'd  follow!  It's  funny  that  George  has  never 
wanted  to  break  away ! " 

"George  has  his  own  ideas  about  what's  worth 
while!"  replied  Claire.  "And  as  for  expecting  poor 
Aunt  Caroline  and  Uncle  Edward  to  change  now! " 

"I  didn't  really,"  answered  Jamie.  "Know  who  that 
is,  Claire?"  And  he  indicated  a  tall,  slender,  pale  youth 
wearing  a  low  English  collar,  who  was  engaged  in  swal- 
lowing oysters  —  his  Adam's  apple  gliding  quickly  up 
and  down  —  whilst  a  short  blond  waiter  watched  him 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  17 

as  if  fascinated.  "That's  Brockbank.  They  say  his 
income  is  a  million  a  year!" 

"What  does  he  do  with  it,  Jamie?" 

"Spends  it,  of  course,  the  way  I  spend  my  two  thou- 
sand! Do  you  think  he  looks  as  if  he  liked  music, 
Claire?" 

"No,  do  you?" 

"No,  his  tastes  run  to  more  material  things.  He 
stands  for  money,  just  as  Helena  does." 

"What  else  can  you  expect  of  Helena?  She  never 
hears  about  anything  else!  Since  the  war  it's  worse 
than  ever." 

"  Neither  do  we,  Claire!" 

"Oh,  yes,  we  do,  Jamie!" 

"  We  don't,  Claire ! "  answered  Jamie  firmly.  "And  if 
it  had  n't  been  for  mother,  we'd  be  just  the  same  as  all 
the  others.  She  had  something  different  in  her.  George 
is  a  throwback,  all  Nicholson,  and  yet  there 's  something 
different  about  George,  too!" 

"You  mean  in  his  way  of  doing  what  he  does?" 

"Yes;  he  has  better  taste  than  any  of  the  older  ones. 
That's  mother!  They  never  approved  of  her  exactly. 
She  was  what  Aunt  Caroline  always  calls,  sarcastically, 
'artistic'   They  despise  that  sort  of  thing!" 

"Don't  be  too  critical,  Jamie.  We  owe  them  so  much ! " 

"They  owe  us  things  they  never  pay!  Who's  going 
to  pay  us  for  winning  the  war,  for  instance?  We  did  n't 
start  it.  The  older  generation  started  it  and  got  us  to 
fight  it  out  for  them.   I  'in  speaking  generally  mind  you. 


18  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

I  ought  to  be  different  from  what  I  am,  and  Helena 
ought  to  be  too,  and  so  many  of  us,  but  it  is  n't  our 
fault  really !" 

"Why  Jamie,  you're  sweet!"  exclaimed  Claire. 

"Am  I?"  responded  Jamie  ironically  with  an  ex- 
pression new  to  Claire.  "I'm  not,  but  it's  their  fault. 
They  say  that  we  —  the  younger  generation  —  are  self- 
ish. So  is  the  older  one  —  and  they  've  got  the  whip 
hand  of  us!" 

"You  mean  that  their  responsibility  is  greater  than 
ours?" 

"Yes,  and  they  don't  live  up  to  it!  Well,  I  don't 
care!"  Jamie  concluded  with  finality.  "It's  time  we 
started.  We  must  n't  miss  this  new  Frenchman's  sym- 
phony.  He's  twenty-three  —  one  of  us!" 

"You're  blue,  Jamie!"  and  Jamie  noticed  with  com- 
punction Claire's  grave  face. 

"I'm  not!  Pve  been  talking  nonsense.  I  think  I'll 
just  have  a  cognac  and  then  we'll  start.  Let's  take  a 
taxi!  My  treat!" 

Jamie  drank  his  cognac  while  Claire  paid  the  bill, 
and  they  started  out,  passing  Helena's  table  and  re- 
ceiving the  same  fixed  and  artificial  smile  accompanied 
by  an  almost  imperceptible  gesture  of  farewell. 

"Blop!"  remarked  Jamie  in  an  undertone,  which 
signified  derision  and  disapproval. 

"You  are  n't  really  blue,  Jamie?  "  asked  Claire  when 
their  taxi,  after  turning  into  the  Avenue,  had  fairly 
started  uptown. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  19 

"Not  a  bit !  I  'm  sorry  I  made  you  think  so.  But  I  'm 
crazy  to  hear  this  new  Frenchman's  symphony.  I  say, 
Claire,  if  the  family  ever  should  break  up  for  any  reason, 
let's  you  and  I  live  together  somewhere!  Don't  you 
think  it  would  be  nice?" 

"Just  lovely,  Jamie!  I'd  like  to  do  it  now,  but  of 
course  Uncle  Edward  would  n't  let  us ! " 

"There  you  are!  Why  should  Uncle  Edward  be  able 
to  dictate  to  us?  We're  of  age!" 

"But  we  could  n't,  anyway.  It  would  be  like  desert- 
ing them." 

Jamie  paid  for  the  taxi  and  they  found  themselves 
presently  in  the  huge  interior  of  Carnegie,  where,  amid 
a  pervading  odor  of  damp  kid  gloves,  people  were  fil- 
ing down  the  aisles,  ushers  were  violently  letting  down 
chair  seats,  and  a  cacophony  of  discordant  sounds  was 
rising  from  the  stage.  Claire  and  Jamie,  whose  seats 
were  about  in  the  center  of  the  house,  sidled  in  and, 
preparing  themselves  with  luxurious  deliberation,  finally 
sank  into  them.  Claire,  after  a  moment  of  slight  hesi- 
tancy, felt  in  the  pocket  of  her  coat  and  held  a  hand 
out  toward  Jamie  in  the  palm  of  which  rested  a  choco- 
late bon-bon.  Jamie  smiled  and  declined.  Claire  hesi- 
tated again,  and  then,  unable  to  resist  a  school-girl  in- 
clination, thrust  it  furtively  into  her  mouth.  The  con- 
ductor appeared,  making  his  way  rapidly  between  the 
rows  of  seated  musicians  and  stepped  upon  his  platform. 
A  vigorous  patter  of  applause  sounded.   The  conductor 


20  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

bowed,  thereby  dislodging  certain  long  locks  which  fell 
over  his  forehead,  restored  them  to  their  place  by  a 
practiced  toss  of  the  head,  seized  his  baton  and  tapped 
with  it  the  metal  frame  of  his  music-stand.  He  waited 
a  moment,  and  then  identically  with  the  upward  sweep 
of  his  arms  —  a  gesture  which  welded  into  one  entity 
all  that  diverse  swarm  —  the  mellifluous  tootling  of  a 
flute  arose,  a  breath  of  spring  moved  the  strings  of 
the  violins,  and  some  instrument  of  percussion,  strange 
to  Claire,  produced  the  sound  of  a  sudden  rush  of  small, 
buoyant,  and  startled  hoofs  galloping  swiftly,  hoofs  of 
deer  or  centaur.  Claire  and  Jamie,  glancing  at  one  an- 
other, sank  back  still  more  luxuriously,  their  muscles 
relaxed,  and,  yielding  themselves  like  floating  swimmers, 
they  gave  themselves  up  to  the  intricate  currents  of  the 
Frenchman's  fantasia. 

Claire  closed  her  eyes  and  let  the  flood  sweep  over 
her.  Emotions  soft  and  intensely  sweet  caused  her  to 
smile  —  inclined  her  almost  to  tears.  How  sweet  life 
was  once  more  —  how  sweet  the  world  —  how  doubly 
sweet,  sitting  beside  her  darling  Jamie  in  this  flood  of 
harmonious  sound  knowing  that  the  war  was  over, 
and  that  spring  had  come.  And  before  her  eyes  there 
rose  a  picture  of  the  Avenue  as  she  had  seen  it  on  that 
day,  six  months  earlier,  when  the  first  mistaken  mes- 
sage had  come  that  hostilities  had  ceased.  She  and 
Jamie  had  been  on  it  together  and  had  taken  part  in 
that  extraordinary  display  of  spontaneous  happiness 
when  there  had  seemed  to  her  about  the  looks  and  ac- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  21 

tions  of  all  classes  an  admirable  sweetness  and  exalta- 
tion which  had  lifted  her  up  with  an  immense  sense  of 
love  and  sympathy  as  if  the  brotherhood  of  man  had 
become  a  living  thing. 

The  symphony,  which,  without  pauses  between  its 
separate  movements,  flowed  on  with  unfailing  resource- 
fulness, bearing  with  it,  without  effort,  all  those  as- 
sembled identities,  began  to  sink  away,  dying  back  into 
the  first  faint  breath  the  violins  had  sounded.  The  flute 
tootled  solitarily  once  more  —  stopped  —  and  the  long 
locks  of  the  conductor  —  trained  to  do  so  —  fell  once 
more  across  his  forehead.  An  immense  and  prolonged 
wave  of  applause  filled  the  auditorium. 

"By  Jove!  That  was  fine!"  exclaimed  Jamie. 

"Heavenly!"  assented  Claire. 

"But  these  Frenchmen  are  so  ingenious.  Is  it  a  work 
of  inspiration,  or  just  mere  diabolical  cleverness?" 

"I'm  not  going  to  bother  to  find  out!"  answered 
Claire.  "It  gave  me  too  much  pleasure.  Jamie,  you 
must  go  abroad  and  study!" 

Jamie's  face  fell.  "If  I  only  could  Claire  —  but  it's 
no  use,  I'm  afraid."  He  was  craning  his  neck  to  look 
down  a  diagonal  alley  formed  by  the  heads,  necks,  and 
shoulders  of  the  people  in  front.  "By  Jove!"  he  ex- 
claimed, recovering  his  cheerfulness,  "If  there  isn't 
—  no  —  yes,  it  is!" 

"Who?"  asked  Claire. 

"Mallette!" 

"Really!  Where?" 


22  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"Look  straight  through  here  until  you  see  an  English 
profile!  See  it?  What  do  you  think  of  him?" 

"He's  rather  nice-looking,  Jamie,  but  I  expect  that 
he  will  be  like  all  the  others.  The  kind  which  has  light 
brown  curling  hair,  good  thin  features,  and  patronizing 
manners!" 

"Mallette's  not  like  that!"  said  Jamie.  "He's  ab- 
lutely  free  from  side." 

"Then  perhaps  I  shall  like  him.  Oh,  a  Strauss  waltz! 
How  lovely ! "  And  forgetting  Mallette  they  lapsed  into 
silence  again. 

But  as  they  were  going  out  they  met  Mallette. 

He  was  standing  in  the  vestibule,  looking  about  him 
for  no  reason  apparently,  beyond  that  of  idle  curiosity. 
Jamie  went  up  to  him,  exclaiming,  "Hello,  Mallette! 
I  want  you  to  meet  my  sister!"  And  during  that  mo- 
ment Claire  took  stock  of  him. 

She  saw  a  man  of  medium  height,  with  curling  light 
brown  hair  carefully  brushed  and  a  courageous  mouth 
which  displayed  white  teeth  when  he  greeted  Jamie.  He 
had  the  fine  and  yet  strong  look  which  very  well  bred 
men  of  all  countries  often  have,  but  what  attracted  her 
particularly  were  his  hazel  eyes  which  demanded  and 
fixed  her  attention  with  a  steady  look  of  smiling  wel- 
come as  if  they  were  forever  engaged  in  searching  out, 
meeting  and  greeting  the  facts  of  life  as  they  ad- 
vanced toward  him,  in  whatever  shape  or  of  whatever 
promise  they  might  reveal  themselves. 

Claire  thought  that  she  might  like  him,  but  for 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  23 

some  reason  wondered,  she  could  not  have  told  why,  if 
he  were  erratic,  principally  perhaps  because  he  was  a 
friend  of  Jamie's.  Jamie  did  have  some  rather  queer 
friends  —  nothing  against  them  that  she  knew  of  — 
just  perhaps  unconventional  and  jolly.  There  was  such 
a  thing  as  being  too  jolly  it  seemed. 

Mallette  proved  to  have  an  agreeable  English  voice 
and  pleasant  manners  when  Jamie  introduced  him,  and 
they  stood  for  a  time  in  the  vestibule,  but  as  they  were 
being  continually  bumped  into  by  the  stream  of  people 
which  was  still  pouring  out  of  the  auditorium,  he  finally 
invited  them  to  have  a  cup  of  tea  with  him,  and  guiding 
them  around  the  corner,  descended  into  a  small  dingy 
basement  tea-shop. 

Claire  reflected  that  most  of  the  young  men  she  knew 
would  have  apologized  for  its  not  being  the  Ritz,  but 
Mallette  said  nothing  beyond  remarking  that  you  could 
get  very  good  scones  there. 

Tea  ordered,  they  discussed  the  concert.  Jamie  had 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  symphony  was  a  work 
of  genius,  but  Mallette  disagreed. 

"Mere  tricks  of  harmonics,  I  think,"  he  said.  "It 
pleased  you  because  it  was  novel,  but  it  would  bore  you 
to  tears  if  you  heard  it  three  times  running.  Don't  you 
think  so,  Miss  Nicholson?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't!"  answered  Claire.  "But  then  I 
love  music  so  much,  I  am  not  very  critical  about  it!" 

"And  the  less  you  love  it,  the  more  critical  you're 
inclined   to  be!"  said   Jamie.   "That's  Mallette.   He 


24  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

says  the  only  modern  German  composition  worth  lis- 
tening to  is  'The  Rosenkavelier ' ! " 

"I  don't  gloat  over  the  fact.  I  regret  it,"  answered 
Mallette,  smiling. 

"And  what  about  Wagner?" 

"He  simply  makes  me  most  awfully  ill!  A  rank 
flower  whose  touch  is  poison!" 

"What  rot!"  cried  Jamie,  and  Claire,  who  was 
shocked  by  such  heresy  and  yet  who  somehow  under- 
stood him,  exclaimed: 

"I  know  what  you  mean.  I  can  see  that  it  might 
affect  one  that  way." 

"It  does,  unless  you  carry  your  own  antidote  for  it. 
Perhaps  I  don't." 

"And  the  Russians!"  Jamie  demanded  almost 
threateningly. 

"I  like  them,  but  they're  all  dead  except  a  few  very 
advanced  composers  who  don't  write  music  at  all.  The 
world  was  changing  fast  during  the  last  ten  years  before 
the  war  and  not  for  the  better!" 

"Ah!"  said  Claire.  "And  all  during  the  day  I  have 
been  thinking  how  beautiful  it  is  once  more!" 

"Nature's  world,  yes,"  answered  Mallette.  "But  I 
was  thinking  of  Man's!" 

"So  was  I,"  said  Claire. 

Mallette  said:  "Really!  I'm  afraid  I  can't  agree 
with  you.  It's  a  very  curious  thing,  but  something  had 
been  going  wrong  with  the  arts  before  the  war.  They 
had  grown,  if  not  faltering,  confused,  as  if  something 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  25 

terrible  was  approaching,  and  as  if  they  were  groping 
blindly  to  find  means  for  the  expression  of  terrific  and 
unheard-of  things.  As  if  even  art  might  not  be  able  to 
express  them.  But  still  they  groped,  trying  new  roads, 
which  led  nowhere,  waiting  for  that  something  which 
tliey  felt  was  coming.  It 's  rather  curious !  Whether  it 
is  just  an  idea  of  mine  or  not,  I  don't  know,  but  there 
have  been  times  in  history,  you  know,  during  great 
crises,  when  the  arts  have  gone  by  the  board." 

"You  mean  during  wars?"  asked  Claire. 

"In  the  past,  yes.  I  think  that  a  kind  of  unrealized 
consciousness  that  something  was  hanging  over  us 
affected  our  usual  modes  of  expression." 

u  But  now  that  it  is  over  things  will  be  as  they  were," 
Claire  said.   "Our  dear  old-fashioned  world?" 

"The  old-fashioned  part  of  it  is  doomed,  I'm  afraid, 
unless  it  changes  itself.  Do  you  really  find  it  beau- 
tiful?" 

"Yes,"  Claire  answered. 

"I  should  like  to  see  what  your  world  is  like  some- 
time!" said  Mallette,  smiling  again. 

"It  consists  of  an  uncle,"  Jamie  interposed,  "two 
aunts,  two  brothers,  three  Irish  maids,  and  an  old- 
fashioned  house  in  Ninth  Street!  Come  down  any 
time  and  take  a  look  at  it!" 

"You  don't  mind,  Claire?"  Jamie  asked,  a  little  later, 
when  all  three  stood  outside  the  tea-shop. 

"Please  go,"  answered  Claire.  "I  want  to  walk  and 


26  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

if  you  come  with  me  you'll  want  to  ride.  Good-night, 
Mr.  Mallette!  Will  you  be  home  to  dinner,  Jamie?" 
"Not  sure,"  replied  Jamie.  "I'll  telephone." 
Claire  started  through  the  cross-street  for  the  Avenue, 
thinking  for  a  moment  about  Mallette.  He  had  n't  said 
very  much  —  excepting  the  usual  small  talk  —  beyond 
what  has  been  recorded,  but  it  seemed  to  her  that  what 
he  had  said  might  have  easily  led  to  the  pronouncement 
of  advanced  ideas.  She  was  not  used  to  abstract  dis- 
cussions of  any  kind,  and  Mallette's  remarks  —  which 
Jamie,  she  noticed,  took  as  a  matter  of  course  —  sur- 
prised and  slightly  interested  her.  He  talked  cleverly 
and  she  thought  she  would  like  to  hear  more  of  it,  but 
about  the  world  in  general  he  must  be  wrong.  It  must 
be  that  humanity  turning,  sobered  and  sick,  from  all 
these  years  of  fighting,  would  seek  other  paths,  paths 
of  peace  and  amity.  That  the  world  of  her  childhood  as 
it  existed  before  1914  as  she  saw  it  dimly  through  the 
turmoil  of  the  past,  would  grow  bright  once  more,  se- 
rene and  buoyant.  And  turning  into  the  Avenue  she 
forgot  Mallette  and  her  cogitations.  She  was  only 
twenty  and  Mallette's  abstractions,  or  any  one  else's, 
could  not  hold  her  attention  long.  She  began  wondering 
what  they  were  going  to  have  for  dinner,  who  Helena's 
dressmaker  was,  and  whether  Particolor,  her  Pekinese, 
was  beginning  to  be  worried  about  her.  The  slight  ex- 
altation which  had  possessed  her  during  the  concert, 
and  for  a  little  while  before,  had  left  her,  but  she  was 
very  happy,  and  as   she  pressed  steadily  down  the 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  27 

Avenue  she  looked  very  handsome.  She  was  tall.  All 
the  Nicholsons  —  with  the  exception  of  Edward  Nichol- 
son —  were  good-looking,  the  women  large  and  the  men 
inclined  to  be  small,  and  all  —  with  the  exception  of 
Edward  Nicholson  —  were  well  made;  and  she  attracted 
many  an  eye  as  she  pressed  buoyantly  on. 

She  let  herself  in.  Particolor  was  waiting  for  her  on 
the  other  side  of  the  door,  as  she  knew  he  would  be,  and 
they  ran  up  the  two  flights  together.  The  Nicholsons 
had  never  had  electricity  put  in,  and  the  gas-jets,  one 
in  each  hall,  were  burning  dimly. 

Claire  went  into  her  room,  the  large  one  next  Jamie's 
smaller  one,  and  as  she  threw  open  the  windows  a  half 
forgotten  accession  of  sound  attracted  her  attention.  All 
the  windows  of  all  the  tenements,  whose  rear  walls  faced 
her  across  the  back  yards,  and  which  had  been  tightly 
shut  for  many  months,  were  open,  and  a  sound  of  voices 
and  of  various  human  activities  welled  out  toward  her. 

Claire  laughed.  During  the  whole  winter,  she  had 
seen  or  heard  nothing  of  them.  It  was  exactly  as  if  the 
breath  of  spring  had  waked  them,  and  as  if  they  had 
resumed  at  once  the  occupations  they  had  been  engaged 
in  when  the  frosts  of  the  previous  autumn  had  put 
them  all  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  n 

Hardly  had  Claire's  door  shut,  when  the  telephone  in 
the  lower  hall  sounded,  and  Jamie  —  when  Maggie,  the 
waitress,  had  taken  down  the  receiver  —  announced  over 
it  that  he  was  bringing  a  friend  home  to  dinner.  George 
had  telephoned  similar  information  a  few  minutes  before, 
and  was  at  that  moment  in  the  Brevoort,  treating  his 
guest  to  a  cocktail  —  cocktails  being  unknown  in  the 
Nicholson  menage. 

Maggie,  whose  duties  embraced  those  of  parlor  maid 
and  waitress,  hung  up  the  receiver,  and  as  it  was  seven 
o'clock,  the  time  at  which  the  gas-jet  in  the  front  hall 
must  be  increased  in  volume,  she  took  an  instrument 
from  her  pantry — -a  length  of  small  brass  tubing  contain- 
ing a  wax  taper,  which  had  in  addition  a  piece  of  cleft 
metal  at  one  end  and  a  wooden  handle  at  the  other,  and 
went  into  the  hall.  Lifting  the  instrument  above  her 
head  until  the  cleft  end  enclosed  the  key  of  the  gas-jet, 
she  performed  the  operation  commonly  known  as  turn- 
ing up  the  gas.  As  she  was  so  engaged,  a  latchkey  rattled 
in  the  lock  of  the  front  door,  the  door  opened,  and 
Edward  Nicholson  entered. 

Edward  Nicholson  —  who  was  undersized  —  had  a 
large  bald  head,  heavy  white  moustaches,  very  short, 
thick  legs,  and  a  pot  belly.  He  was  the  unhandsome 
member  of  the  family.  Maggie,  a  buxom  woman  of  forty, 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  29 

with  a  bosom  of  excessive  development,  stood  with  her 
arms  still  extended,  but  with  her  eyes  fixed  stoically 
on  Edward  Nicholson.  Edward  Nicholson  glanced  at 
Maggie's  bosom,  from  habit,  but  coldly,  and  said  in  an 
impersonal  tone,  as  he  began  to  mount  the  stairs: 

"Good-evening,  Maggie !" 

"Good  evening,  sir!" 

Twenty  years  before,  when  Maggie  was  a  fresh  young 
Irish  girl  of  twenty,  that  same  bosom  had  roused  many 
amorous  longings  in  Edward  Nicholson,  and  although 
through  natural  caution  he  had  guarded  even  his  glances, 
Maggie  had  been  perfectly  aware  of  his  prepossession, 
and  so,  too,  to  a  degree,  had  his  sisters,  but  that  was 
twenty  years  ago,  before  Caroline  and  Kate  had  begun 
to  harbor  dark  suspicions  that  their  brother  was  leading 
what  is  called  a  double  life. 

Maggie,  with  her  stolid  air,  went  into  the  parlor  carry- 
ing the  instrument  for  turning  up  the  gas  with  her.  She 
still  hoped,  some  day,  to  surprise  Edward  Nicholson  in 
one  more  amorous  glance.  Maggie  was  a  good  girl  and 
a  good  Catholic,  and  if  Edward  Nicholson  had  had  the 
temerity  to  make  advances  twenty  years  before,  or 
even  to-day,  she  would  have  repulsed  him  sharply. 
Nevertheless,  those  long-past  furtive  appraisals  of  his 
had  not  been  distasteful  to  her/ 

Maggie  lighted  two  of  the  burners  of  the  six  in  the 
large  chandelier  in  the  parlor,  a  light  on  each  side  of  the 
mantelpiece,  a  light  on  either  side  of  the  doorway  lead- 
ing to  the  library,  and  a  light  in  the  wall  opposite  the 


30  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

mantelpiece  and  near  one  of  the  front  windows.  This 
light  seemed  to  illuminate  the  music-rack  of  the  grand 
piano,  to  the  accompaniment  of  which  Aunt  Kate  in  a 
husky  voice  occasionally  murdered  the  celebrated  con- 
tralto aria  from  "Samson  and  Delilah."  All  these 
lights  were  enclosed  in  old-fashioned  globes  of  clear 
glass  with  designs  of  rather  elegant  scrollwork  etched 
on  them.  They  were  hard  to  get  now,  being  considered 
old-fashioned  and  out  of  date,  and  Caroline  could  replace, 
broken  ones  only  by  picking  one  up  occasionally,  here 
and  there,  in  second-hand  furniture  shops,  in  conser- 
vative gas-fixture  establishments,  or  in  the  warerooms 
of  auctioneers. 

After  lighting  the  gas-jets,  Maggie  lighted  two  oil 
lamps,  with  silk  shades,  one  of  which  stood  on  a  small 
table  at  the  left  of  the  fireplace,  and  one  on  the  small  end 
of  the  grand  piano. 

Under  this  illumination  the  Nicholsons'  parlor  stood 
revealed. 

It  produced  a  Victorian  impression  of  comfort,  not- 
withstanding the  atrocious  character  of  most  of  its  con- 
tents. A  mirror  with  a  rococo  gilt  frame  filled  the  en- 
tire space  between  the  front  windows,  as  it  did  at  one 
time  in  ten  thousand  New  York  houses.  The  frame  of  the 
mirror  branched  out  at  the  top  forming  two  gilt  cornices 
from  which  the  window  curtains  were  suspended.  In 
the  Nicholson  parlor  these  were  of  old  red  damask.  This 
damask  had  been  purchased  in  Paris,  forty  years  be- 
fore, by  Grandfather  and  Grandmother  Nicholson,  on 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  31 

the  occasion  of  their  only  visit  there,  and  had  originally 
covered  the  parlor  furniture  as  well,  but  the  damask 
which  had  been  used  on  the  furniture  had  been  replaced 
many  times  since,  each  time  with  as  close  a  match  to 
the  original  as  could  be  procured,  but  each  time  depart- 
ing farther  and  farther  from  it.  Another  mirror  with  a 
gilt  frame  of  a  debased  rococo  style  surmounted  the  man- 
telpiece, which  was  of  white  marble,  also  rococo,  but 
of  a  style  even  more  debased  than  that  of  the  mirror 
frames.  The  doors  were  of  good,  handsome  mahogany 
surrounded  by  heavy  mouldings. 

The  effect  of  the  doors,  the  gilt  frames,  the  plain  gray- 
painted  walls,  and  the  crimson  damask  curtains,  was  not 
bad,  but  certain  things  in  the  room  led  one  to  believe 
that  the  harmony  of  the  effect  was  quite  accidental  and 
that  the  taste  of  the  Nicholsons  left  much  to  be  desired. 

For  one  thing,  the  pictures  were  distressing.  On  one 
wall  hung  a  large  flower  piece,  also  the  result  of  the  Paris 
trip,  of  an  extremely  mediocre  character,  which  Kate 
Nicholson  was  in  the  habit  of  showing  to  visitors  with 
pride,  announcing  in  a  final  sort  of  way  that  it  was  the 
work  of  Neolini.  No  visitor  had  ever  heard  of  Neolini 
before,  nor  had  Kate,  nor  anybody  else;  but  for  the  mere 
reason  that  he  had  not  been  heard  of,  the  mention  of 
his  name  almost  always  produced  an  impression.  The 
other  pictures,  which,  with  the  flower  piece,  were  all 
framed  in  gilt  mouldings  of  excessive  depth  and  orna- 
mentation, had  all  unmistakably  been  purchased  by 
people  who  should  not  purchase  pictures:  a  group  of 


32  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

Neapolitan  peasants;  the  Favorite  of  the  Harem  — 
properly  clothed,  of  course;  the  Little  Bootblack;  the 
Broken  Pitcher  —  not  Greuze  —  and  a  few  landscapes 
of  impossible  Alpine  scenery. 

In  one  corner,  on  a  pedestal  of  onyx,  stood  a  bronze 
bust  of  a  young  lady  holding  two  cherries  between  her 
lips,  the  cherries  being  colored  to  imitate  nature  —  this 
had  been  purchased  as  a  Christmas  gift  for  Caroline  by 
Edward,  who  had  thereby  established  himself  as  a  con- 
noisseur of  art  in  the  eyes  of  almost  all  the  Nicholsons 
— and  against  one  wall  an  Eastlake  etagere  of  black  wood, 
engraved  with  lines  of  gold,  displayed  various  objects  of 
art  which  the  Nicholsons  cherished:  a  mosaic  of  the 
Coliseum  at  Rome,  a  collection  of  souvenir  spoons,  two 
photograph  albums,  a  set  of  mother-of-pearl  shells  on 
which  were  painted  a  series  of  ideal  heads,  and  a  Swiss 
music-box. 

The  furniture  consisted  of  a  rosewood  "parlor  set," 
with  three  or  four  later  additions  of  the  saddle-bag 
variety. 

The  room  had  formerly  been  carpeted,  but  this  was 
now  abolished,  and  a  hardwood  floor  had  been  laid  down 
on  which  were  placed  a  few  expensive  but  very  ugly 
Eastern  rugs. 

Passing  through  the  folding  doors,  Maggie  proceeded 
next  to  illuminate  what  had  formerly  been  the  dining- 
room.  Through  a  strange  outburst  of  extravagance  on 
Edward  Nicholson's  part,  some  ten  years  before,  a  din- 
ing-room had  been  added  to  the  rear  of  the  house,  and 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  33 

the  former  dining-room  had  been  turned  into  what  the 
family  called  the  library. 

In  both  of  these  rooms,  the  parlor  and  the  library,  the 
not  inelegant  original  character  of  the  rooms  themselves 
had  served  to  mitigate  the  liberties  which  the  Nicholsons 
had  taken  with  them,  but  it  was  in  the  dining-room  that 
one  could  see  the  Nicholson  preferences  naively  dis- 
played. The  room  was  panneled  up  to  a  height  of  six 
feet  in  oak,  finished  a  particularly  vile  yellowish  color, 
the  walls  above  being  hung  with  a  paper  designed  to  look 
like  tapestry.  The  ceiling  was  also  of  oak,  but  the  six 
central  panels  had  at  first  formed  a  skylight  glazed  with 
a  design  in  bright-colored  glass.  This  glass  produced  a 
glare  at  breakfast  and  luncheon,  so  violent  that  it  was 
too  much  even  for  Edward,  Caroline,  and  Kate,  and 
after  two  years  the  skylight  openings  had  been  filled  in 
to  match  the  rest  of  the  ceiling.  Claire  could  remember 
distinctly  seeing  the  assembled  family  decorated  with 
a  variety  of  colors  as  they  sat  at  table.  Jamie's  face 
bathed  in  a  ghastly  green,  a  patch  of  scarlet  running 
about  over  Aunt  Caroline,  and  Edward's  head  trans- 
formed into  a  purple  dome. 

The  furniture  of  light  oak,  which  matched  the  panel- 
ing, was  heavily  carved,  and  a  rug,  whose  colors  rivaled 
those  of  the  skylight,  covered  the  floor. 

Maggie,  after  turning  up  the  gas  in  the  library  where 
it  needed  turning  up,  and  lighting  other  burners  accord- 
ing to  the  fixed  habits  of  the  house,  shut  herself  into  the 
dining-room.  At  that  moment  the  front  door  opened 


34  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

once  more.  This  time  it  admitted  George  and  his  guest, 
both  smelling  slightly  of  cloves.  They  hung  their  hats  on 
the  hat-rack  and  ascended  to  George's  room.  Almost 
immediately,  Aunt  Kate  came  in.  She,  too,  had  been  to 
the  concert  at  Carnegie,  but,  being  very  greedy,  had 
stopped  for  a  solitary  orgy  of  cakes  and  chocolate  at 
Maillard's.  As  Caroline  was  already  at  home  the  entire 
household  was  now  assembled  with  the  exception  of 
Jamie. 

Kate  Nicholson's  door  had  just  closed  on  the  third 
floor,  when  Edward  began  to  descend  the  stairs  as  hur- 
riedly as  his  figure  permitted,  glancing  toward  the  mar- 
ble top  of  the  hall  hat-rack.  Observing  from  halfway  up 
that  the  evening  paper  lay  on  it,  he  adopted  a  more  lei- 
surely pace  for  the  remainder  of  the  descent,  and,  pick- 
ing up  the  paper,  made  his  way  into  the  library  with  it. 
It  was  the  unwritten  rule  of  the  house  that  neither 
Edward,  Caroline,  nor  Kate  might  carry  it  up  to  their 
rooms  when  they  came  in,  but  that  the  first  to  descend 
later  was  to  enjoy  it  undisturbed.  If  Caroline  secured  it 
first,  she  seemed  to  Edward  to  keep  it  an  unconscionable 
time,  while  if  Edward  had  it  it  sometimes  seemed  to 
Caroline  that  he  must  be  pretending  to  read  it  long  after 
he  had  actually  finished.  Kate,  who  through  her  uncon- 
querable lethargy  was  always  late  everywhere,  never  got 
it  until  after  the  other  two  had  had  it,  when  her  immer- 
sion in  it  would  last  during  the  remainder  of  the  evening. 
The  result  of  this  arrangement  was  that  two  people 
—  Claire,  George,  and  Jamie  did  n't  count  —  were  al- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  35 

ways  waiting  disconsolately  about  for  a  chance  to  get 
hold  of  it.  This  complication,  which  arose  every  eve- 
ning, could  have  been  immediately  done  away  with  if 
three  evening  papers  had  been  taken  instead  of  one,  but 
as  most  people  take  only  one,  the  taking  of  three  would 
have  required  a  daring  type  of  mind  which  did  not  exist 
in  the  Nicholson  family.  On  second  thought  it  is  doubt- 
ful whether  this  idea  would  have  served  any  good  pur- 
pose, for  it  is  not  likely  that  the  three  evening  papers 
would  have  been  the  same,  and  if  they  had  been  differ- 
ent, it  is  probable  that  Edward,  Caroline,  and  Kate 
would  each  have  insisted  on  reading  all  of  them,  thereby 
simply  trebling  the  difficulties  of  the  situation  as  it 
existed  already. 

Edward  Nicholson  seated  himself  in  his  favorite  chair, 
which  was  placed  directly  underneath  the  chandelier, 
glanced  at  the  Wall  Street  page,  and  then,  searching 
through  the  remainder  of  the  paper  until  he  found  the 
announcement  of  the  failure  of  a  large  firm  of  rival  but- 
ton manufacturers,  he  settled  himself  solidly  and  began 
to  read.  He  read  almost  furtively,  grasping  the  paper 
firmly  by  both  hands  as  if  ready  to  crumple  it  together, 
at  a  moment's  notice,  but  he  had  just  become  absorbed 
in  the  newspaper's  account  of  the  catastrophe,  when  a 
preliminary  loud  bang  sounded  on  the  grand  piano  in 
the  parlor  and  some  one  swung  into  a  waltz.  Edward 
rose  impatiently  and  was  about  to  close  the  doors  be- 
tween the  parlor  and  the  library,  when  he  desisted,  see- 
ing that  Jamie  had  a  guest,  who,  seated  on  a  small  chair, 


36  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

was  listening  as  a  guest,  to  Jamie's  performance  with  a 
polite  attention  he  might  not  otherwise  have  afforded 
it.  They  had  just  come  in,  but  Edward,  immersed  in 
the  paper,  had  not  heard  them. 

Edward  returned  to  his  chair,  but  almost  immediately 
Caroline's  loud,  brusque  tones  sounded  in  the  parlor, 
and  at  the  same  moment,  glancing  diagonally  upward 
through  the  door  leading  into  the  back  hall,  he  saw  George 
and  another  masculine  figure  descending  the  stairs.  He 
looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  later  than  he  thought.  In 
fact  it  was  half-past  seven,  and  as  he  slipped  his  watch 
back  into  his  pocket,  the  sliding  doors  leading  into  the 
dining-room  opened,  and  Maggie  appeared  to  announce 
that  dinner  was  served. 

In  the  meantime  Claire,  in  her  room,  which  she  loved, 
had  not  lighted  the  gas,  and  was  sitting  by  the  window 
in  the  fading  light,  with  Particolor  on  her  lap,  in  a  low 
rocking-chair,  looking  at  the  windows  of  the  tenement 
houses.  She  remembered  some  play  where  there  had 
been  a  scene  similar  to  it,  a  building  showing  its  various 
occupants  in  rows  of  windows,  one  above  the  other,  and 
this  was  just  as  fascinating.  She  heard  the  voices  of 
women  engaged  in  interminable  dialogues,  the  rough 
tones  of  uneducated  men,  scraps  of  songs,  laughter,  the 
crying  of  infants,  the  hoarse  conversations  of  the  tenement 
children  darting  in  and  out,  wild  as  hawks.  From  some 
place  issued  the  sound  of  some  small  wood  instrument, 
piping  a  few  notes  which  reminded  her  of  the  mellifluous 
flute  which  had  tootled  in  the  Frenchman's  symphony. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  37 

She  tried  to  discover  whence  it  came,  but  could  not. 
The  whole  place  teemed  with,  swarmed  with  lif e,  and  the 
city  swarmed  with  it,  and  the  whole  world.  Idly  she 
asked  herself  what  it  meant,  all  these  swarming  millions. 
And  how  little  she  knew  of  it  and  of  them.  A  few  people 
here  and  there,  a  place  or  two,  and  only  really  well 
this  house,  only  intimately  her  room,  a  tiny  hollow  cube 
lost  in  the  immensity  of  the  city,  in  the  infinity  of  the 
world.  She  felt  in  her  pocket,  drew  out  a  tiny  box  con- 
taining chocolate  bonbons  and,  biting  into  one,  stretched 
herself  luxuriously,  leaning  far  back  in  her  chair. — Some 
day  she  would  leave  this  room.  Some  day  life  would  call 
to  her  and  she  would  go  out  to  meet  it,  but  not  yet  — 
she  was  not  ready. 

The  rasping  of  the  dumb-waiter  far  below  roused  her. 
She  could  tell  from  the  quality  of  the  sounds  it  made 
that  it  was  descending.  This  meant  that  Maggie  was 
ready  for  the  soup,  and  that  she  had  at  the  most  five 
minutes  in  which  to  dress  for  dinner.  She  sprang  up, 
lighted  the  gas,  unlaced  and  kicked  off  her  shoes,  undid 
her  dress,  washed,  gave  her  hair  a  touch  here  and  there, 
slipped  into  another  dress  which  she  could  fasten  quickly , 
drew  on  a  pair  of  slippers,  and  ran  downstairs.  Maggie, 
in  the  doorway  between  the  parlor  and  the  library,  was 
announcing  dinner.  Aunt  Kate,  for  a  wonder,  had  just 
preceded  her,  and  George  and  Jamie  were  there,  George 
with  an  unknown  friend  and  Jamie  with  —  Mallette. 

Mallette's  reappearance  struck  Claire,  Jamie,  and 
Mallette  himself  in  a  humorous  light,  and  they  exchanged 


38  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

smiles.  George's  friend,  brought  up  for  introduction, 
shook  hands  with  Claire  with  a  grip  so  muscular  that  she 
felt  glad  that  she  had  forgotten  to  put  on  her  rings  after 
washing  her  hands.  He,  too,  was  of  medium  height,  but 
thickly  built,  with  a  longish  head,  a  heavy  chin,  and  light 
blue  eyes.  He  seemed  about  thirty-eight  or  nine,  much 
older  than  George,  and  his  brownish  hair  was  already 
touched  with  gray.  He  spoke  with  a  strong  and  forceful 
voice.  His  name  was  Dudley  Orville. 

Claire  was  twenty,  Jamie  twenty-two,  and  George 
twenty-four.  Jamie  looked  like  no  one  else  in  the  fam- 
ily, but  between  Claire  and  George,  who  were  unmis- 
takable Nicholsons,  there  was  a  strong  resemblance. 
Claire  was  tall  for  a  woman,  George,  for  a  man,  slightly 
undersized.  Claire  was  handsome,  George  extremely 
good-looking.  Each  had  regular  features,  well-shaped 
heads,  fine  complexions,  handsome  eyes,  and  symmet- 
rical bodies,  but  in  George  all  these  things  were  neat, 
compact,  and  small;  in  Claire  they  were  vigorous  and 
splendid. 

As  for  Jamie,  he  had  a  long  nose  and  a  retreating  fore- 
head from  which  his  black  hair  was  always  glossily 
brushed,  a  musicianly  profile,  a  mouth  which  displayed 
his  feelings  too  openly,  sloping  shoulders,  a  narrow  chest, 
a  thin  body,  and  blue-gray  eyes.  He  possessed  undeni- 
able charm,  but  not  one  of  the  Nicholsons  understood 
him  in  the  least  excepting  Claire. 

When  war  broke  out  in  1914  Jamie  disappeared. 
After  a  month  a  letter  came  from  him  in  England.   He 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  39 

had  enlisted  there  in  an  English  regiment.  He  was  sent 
to  France,  saw  some  heavy  fighting  for  a  month,  con- 
tracted typhoid,  and  was  discharged  from  the  army 
after  a  period  of  convalescence  in  London. 

George's  army  experience  had  been  less  extensive. 
He  had  gone  to  an  officers'  training  camp  on  the  United 
States'  declaration  of  war,  but  had  not  been  sent 
abroad. 

There  remain  only  the  Nicholson  sisters,  Caroline  and 
Kate.  They  also  resembled  each  other  and  were  both 
Nicholsons,  but  while  Caroline  had  the  bright  Nicholson 
hair  and  the  fresh  Nicholson  complexion,  Kate's  hair  was 
dark  and  her  complexion  muddy.  Their  cast  of  features 
was  similar,  and  each  looked  like  Claire  and  George. 
Caroline  was  big,  brusque,  and  hearty,  a  fine  figure  of 
energetic  middle  age.  Kate  was  big,  too,  but  while  Car- 
oline's manner  was  open,  Kate's  possessed  the  furtive 
characteristics  of  one  who  is  prepossessed  and  guided  by 
secret  vices,  Kate's  being  laziness  and  gluttony.  Of  all 
the  Nicholsons  living  in  this  house,  Kate's  character  was 
the  most  obscure.  She  was  less  frank,  more  impenetra- 
ble than  the  others,  and  colder  even  than  Edward. 

If  the  foregoing  description  of  the  Nicholson  family 
and' the  Nicholson  house  has  given  the  impression  of 
anything  in  the  least  cheap  or  tawdry,  it  has  failed  of  its 
purpose,  because  they  and  it  were  spotless,  shining,  and 
expensive.  In  the  house  nothing  was  ever  allowed  to  de- 
teriorate in  the  slightest  degree.  The  paint  was  always 
fresh,  the  mahogany  beautifully  polished,  the  brasses 


40  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

luminous.  The  taste  of  the  objects  which  adorned  the 
rooms  might  be  found  fault  with,  but  the  workmanship 
never.  The  Nicholsons  always  bought  the  best  quality 
of  everything  and  were  willing  to  pay  for  it.  If  they  had 
had  a  coat  of  arms,  its  motto  might  well  have  been,  "  The 
Best  is  the  Cheapest,"  they  repeated  this  axiom  so  often. 

Their  persons  exemplified  it.  Caroline  and  Kate  wore 
dresses  not  always  of  the  latest  fashion,  but  of  the  very 
best  materials  made  in  the  most  careful  way,  while  dia- 
monds and  pearls  of  good  size  and  of  the  very  first  qual- 
ity flashed  or  slumbered  on  the  carefully  kept  fingers  of 
their  large  strong  hands.  Edward's  clothing  was  con- 
servative but  solid;  and  the  entire  family  evidently  never 
dreamed  of  buying  anything  which  was  not  of  the  best, 
a  practice,  the  outcome,  plainly,  of  a  policy  founded  on 
traditions  of  good  business  logic. 

Maggie,  having  announced  dinner,  retreated  through 
the  sliding  doors  between  the  dining-room  and  library, 
and  Caroline  followed,  followed  by  the  others.  Edward 
was  just  rising  from  his  chair,  and  a  short  pause  ensued 
in  the  progress  of  the  procession  while  Orville  and  Mal- 
lette  were  introduced  to  him.  This  ceremony  concluded, 
everybody  entered  the  dining-room,  Edward  leading  and 
carrying  the  evening  paper,  which  he  folded  up  and  slid 
under  him  as  he  sat  down.  This  was  to  prevent  its  ap- 
propriation by  anybody  else  before  he  had  finished  it. 
Maggie  was  waiting  to  begin  operations,  and  as  was  al- 
ways the  case  when  there  were  guests,  Annie,  the  cham- 
bermaid, had  come  upstairs  to  assist  her. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  41 

Guests  for  dinner,  brought  in  by  Claire,  George,  or 
Jamie,  were  not  infrequent  at  the  Nicholsons',  and  with 
rare  exceptions  were  the  only  kind  who  ever  appeared 
there.  Relatives  were  occasionally  asked  and  friends  of 
Caroline  or  Kate  were  invited  at  rare  intervals,  but  the 
Nicholsons  had  never  given  a  dinner  party.  Why  the 
younger  guests  ever  came  was  something  of  a  mysterv 

—  unless  it  was  to  escape  the  tedium  of  their  own  houses 

—  because  the  atmosphere  of  the  Nicholson  house  was 
not  enlivening.  Caroline,  without  knowing  much  about 
them,  liked  to  see  young  people  about,  but  both  Kate 
and  Edward  were  completely  indifferent  to  them,  and  it 
was  the  invariable  custom  for  them,  after  the  ordeal  of 
dinner  was  over,  to  escape  into  the  refuge  of  the  bed- 
room of  whoever  had  invited  them.  To-night,  however, 
the  atmosphere  was  slightly  charged  with  the  stimulat- 
ing element  of  novelty. 

This  novelty  was  Mallette. 

Only  one  foreigner  —  previous  to  Mallette's  appear- 
ance— had  ever  been  entertained  in  Edward  Nicholson's 
house.  Kate  Nicholson  had  met  a  German  count, 
some  years  before — two  years  before  the  war  in  fact  — 
and  had  asked  him  to  call.  He  had  called  constantly  for  a 
short  time,  had  proposed  to  Kate  and  had  been  refused, 
so  it  was  said,  had  tried  to  borrow  money  of  Edward  and 
had  again  been  refused,  and  had  disappeared.  Soon  after- 
wards he  had  been  arrested  as  a  swindler,  and  the  news- 
papers had  discovered  that  he  was  not  a  count  at  all,  but 
the  son  of  a  small  Berlin  tailor.  Although  the  Nicholsons 


42  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

had  enjoyed  the  German  greatly,  listening  to  his  stories 
very  much  as  they  listened  to  the  tales  the  foreign  mis- 
sionaries told  in  the  lecture-room  of  their  church,  this 
experience  strengthened  the  prejudice  which  they  had 
always  nourished  against  all  foreigners,  and  it  is  doubt- 
ful if  Mallette's  reception  would  have  been  what  it  was 
had  not  the  war,  with  its  succession  of  foreign  mis- 
sions, the  variety  of  strange  uniforms  seen  in  the  streets, 
the  sudden  preponderance  of  foreign  affairs  in  the  news- 
papers, given  a  slight  temporary  cosmopolitan  tinge  to 
the  conversation  and  thoughts  of  many  Americans  who 
before  had  hardly  been  conscious  of  Europe  at  all  ex- 
cept as  a  place  where  immigrants  came  from.  As  it  was, 
however,  the  moment  Mallette's  crisp  English  accent 
sounded,  the  Nicholsons  —  particularly  the  older  ones — 
spruced  themselves  up  a  bit,  so  to  speak,  and  prepared 
to  display  their  company  manners  for  his  special  benefit. 
In  England,  all  Americans  are  probable  millionaries,  and 
in  America  it  would  not  be  impossible  for  an  English- 
man to  appear  who  had  aristocratic  connections. 

Edward  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  Caroline  at  the 
foot,  Kate  at  Edward's  right,  Claire  at  his  left,  and  the 
four  young  men  between  them  and  Caroline,  two  on 
each  side.  Edward  always  carved,  and  on  asking  guests 
which  kind  they  would  have,  was  always  told  that  it 
did  n't  matter,  which  always  irritated  him,  although  he 
did  n't  show  it;  therefore,  when  Mallette,  on  being 
asked,  told  him  exactly  what  he  preferred,  a  slight  sen- 
sation prevailed  at  the  table  for  a  moment,  and  it  be- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  43 

came  plain  to  the  Nicholsons,  because  of  Edward  Nich- 
olson's manner,  that  he  approved  of  Mallette. 

"Well,  I  see  that  Thwaites  &  Company  have  failed!" 
remarked  George  to  Edward  Nicholson  as  soon  as  they 
were  seated. 

"Well,  well!"  cut  in  Caroline.  "Thwaites,  eh?  Such 
an  old  concern,  too!" 

"What's  the  trouble  there,  uncle?"  asked  George. 

"War  contracts,"  Edward  answered  briefly.  The 
subject  seemed  distasteful  to  him. 

"War  contracts!"  George  repeated  incredulously. 
"Fail  over  war  contracts!  —  why,  w —  ahem,"  and  he 
coughed  hurriedly. 

"It's  too  bad  they  couldn't  have  waited  a  while!" 
observed  Orville.  "Munitions  are  shaky  enough  as  it  is ! " 

"They  must  have  been  a  lot  of  idiots,"  George  ob- 
served. "Fancy  not  being  able  to  make  money  on  a 
war  contract!"  He  glanced  at  his  uncle  and  as  the  lat- 
ter did  not  respond,  looked  complacently  at  Orville. 

"  Some  people  seemed  to  think  the  war  was  going  on 
forever,"  he  continued,  and  Orville  supplemented  this 
by  adding: 

"Yes,  there's  always  a  time  to  get  in  and  a  time  to  get 
out." 

"In  and  out  of  what?"  Jamie  inquired.  He  had  not 
been  listening. 

"Everything  of  course,  even  bed;  something  you 
never  seem  to  understand,"  George  answered  with  broth- 
erly brusqueness. 


44  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

A  laugh  followed  this  sally  while  Jamie,  unable  to 
think  of  any  immediate  retort,  made  one  of  his  inimit- 
able pantomimic  gestures  indicating  that  George  thought 
himself  unduly  clever.  All  of  the  Nicholsons  had 
laughed,  that  is,  excepting  Edward,  who,  now  slicing 
the  roast  beef  as  if  it  might  have  been  a  Prussian,  re- 
marked with  a  rancor  surprising  in  one  usually  so 
self-contained:  "They  ended  the  war  too  soon." 

"They  certainly  did,"  Caroline  assented  in  her  loud, 
positive  voice.  "They  should  never  have  stopped  until 
they  were  in  Berlin." 

"  But  Aunt  Caroline  "  —  and  what  Claire  said  sounded 
almost  heretical  —  "think  how  many  more  of  our  sol- 
diers would  have  lost  their  lives!" 

"I  know,"  Caroline  replied  obstinately;  "but  the 
Germans  have  got  to  be  made  to  feel  sorry  for  what 
they  've  done  and  the  only  way  you  can  do  that  is  by 
giving  them  a  thorough  beating.  You  've  got  to  make 
them  repent!" 

Claire  was  not  sure  that  you  could  make  people  re- 
pent by  beating  them,  but  she  was  forced  to  spec- 
ulate on  the  peculiar  ferocity  which  had  been  displayed 
by  the  older  Nicholsons  during  the  war.  Abstractly 
she  could  not  blame  them  for  feeling  ferocious  about  the 
Germans  because  she  felt  that  way  herself,  but  the  un- 
escapable  fact  about  their  ferocity,  which  she  could  not 
share, was  that  the  satisfaction  the  slaughter  of  Germans 
caused  them  was  so  keen  that  it  made  them  quite  in- 
different to  the  fate  of  those  who  were  slaughtering 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  45 

them,  and  who,  of  course,  were  themselves  being  slaugh- 
tered in  large  numbers. 

At  this  point,  during  a  momentary  pause,  the  English 
voice  of  Mallette  rose  distinctly.  He  seemed  to  have 
been  asking  Jamie  a  question  or  two  in  an  undertone, 
and  now  he  articulated  clearly,  as  if  repeating  a  word  he 
had  heard,  but  was  not  quite  sure  of  — 

"Buttons?" 

Mallette's  manner  of  pronouncing  the  word  was  so 
superior  in  its  staccato  clearness  to  the  rather  slurring 
American  itf!xhod,  that  it  seemed  to  the  Nicholsons  as  if 
his  attitude  toward  the  question  of  buttons  in  the  ab- 
stract might  be  superior  too.  Jamie,  who  hated  to  talk 
about  business  or  to  hear  it  talked  about,  because  he 
never  understood  it  in  the  least,  flushed,  and  answered 
in  a  low  voice,  which  the  table  heard  plainly: 

"Yes,  that's  our  business!" 

"Our  business!"  cried  George  humorously.  "Jamie, 
the  button  manufacturer!" 

The  elder  Nicholsons  laughed  at  this  sally,  and  Caro- 
line cried  in  her  brusque  way:  "Now  don't  you  make 
fun  of  Jamie!  He's  all  right!  Are  n't  you,  Jamie?" 

She  smiled  at  Mallette  as  if  inviting  him  to  enjoy  the 
family  joke,  too,  but  Mallette  had  caught  Claire's  ex- 
pression of  resentment  over  Jamie's  confusion,  and  he 
diverted  attention  from  him  by  remarking  to  Edward: 

"Might  I  ask  you  how  you  create  markets,  sir,  where 
there  have  been  none  before?" 

"By  creating  a  demand  for  what  you  have  to  sell." 


46  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"By  teaching  a  native,  for  instance,  who  has  always 
tied  his  clothing  with  tapes,  to  use  buttons  instead  ?  " 

"As  an  illustration,  that  is  as  good  as  any  other," 
answered  Edward. 

"Then  in  these  days  the  supply  must  regulate  the 
demand,  and  not  the  demand  the  supply." 

Edward  smiled  tolerantly.  "  That  was  the  old  theory. 
In  these  days  if  you  want  to  make  more  money,  you 
must  increase  the  volume  of  your  business.  You  can't 
increase  your  profits." 

"So  that  if  you  do  a  million  dollars'  worth  of  business 
a  year  and  you  want  to  double  your  profits,  you  must 
manage  to  convince  enough  people  that  they  want  but- 
tons badly  enough  to  make  up  another  million  dollars' 
worth!" 

"Exactly!" 

"That's  jolly  interesting!"  remarked  Mallette. 

"You  are  not  in  business  yourself?"  asked   Edward. 

"Oh,  no;  I'm  an  actor!" 

This  announcement  was  received  rather  frostily,  al- 
though Mallette  seemed  quite  unconscious  of  the  fact, 
and  Claire  saw  George  cast  an  equivocal  leer  at  Orville 
which  could  not  have  failed  offending  Mallette  if  he 
had  seen  it.  Kate,  who  had  been  eating  heavily,  and 
who  had  not  yet  spoken,  now  said : 

"I  see  that  there's  an  English  lord  acting  in  a  play 
here.  Do  you  know  him?  " 

"Hazlewood?"  answered  Mallette.  "Oh,  yes,  we 
were  at  school  together!" 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  47 

With  the  exception  of  Claire  and  Jamie,  Mallette's 
assertion  was  received  by  the  table  with  a  silence  which 
seemed  to  say,  "Perhaps  you  did,  and  perhaps  you  did 
not,  but  anyway,  we  know  what  actors  are  like,  and  any- 
thing they  may  say  must  be  taken  with  a  grain  of  salt!" 
The  knowledge  that  Mallette  was  an  actor  had  gone  far 
toward  neutralizing  the  favorable  impression  his  accent 
had  produced;  in  fact,  it  seemed  now  as  if  that  same  ac- 
cent might  be  one  of  any  number  of  equivocal  weapons 
deliberately  assembled  for  one  knew  not  what  dubious 
purposes,  and  all  became  subtly  aware  that  Edward's 
approval  of  him,  for  his  prompt  declaration  as  to 
whether  he  preferred  it  rare  or  well  done,  had  been 
withdrawn. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  think,  uncle,  I  think  Thwaites 
&  Company  would  be  a  good  buy!"  This  from  George, 
who  talked  and  thought  about  business  even  more  than 
any  of  the  other  Nicholsons,  which  is  saying  a  good  deal, 
after  another  meaning  glance  which,  this  time,  Mallette 
noticed.  Claire  thought  that  George  seemed  to  be  try- 
ing to  be  deliberately  rude  to  him. 

"Not  at  all!"  answered  Edward.  " There 's nothing 
there.  Their  business  has  disappeared.  You  would  be 
buying  a  number  of  buildings  full  of  machinery  and  no 
customers  to  speak  of!" 

"This  is  the  kind  of  thing  we  get  every  night!"  Jamie 
whispered  to  Mallette.  "It's  the  original  game  of  'But- 
ton !  button !  Who 's  got  the  button? '  and  they  're  play- 
ing it  all  the  time!  It's  fierce!" 


48  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"Your  uncle  would  n't  tell  you  whether  he  thought  it 
would  be  a  good  speculation  or  not.  You  know  how  he 
treated  me  when  he  got  that  tip  on  Steel!" 

Aunt  Caroline  uttered  this  in  her  loud,  challenging 
voice,  and  the  Nicholsons  laughed  again.  It  was  a  stand- 
ing joke  with  them.  Not  long  before  Edward  had  bought 
steel  on  a  reliable  tip  and  was  said  to  have  done  a  good 
stroke  of  business.  He  did  not  tell  any  one,  because  no 
matter  how  willing  he  might  be  to  talk  about  business  in 
general,  he  never  imparted  any  information  concerning 
his  own,  and  he  did  not  approve  of  speculation,  for  wo- 
men especially,  but  Caroline  had  accidentally  learned 
what  Edward  was  doing,  had  done  likewise,  and  had 
never  failed  since  to  berate  him  when  opportunity  of- 
fered for  not  sharing  his  information  with  her. 
f    "How's  copper,  George?"  she  added. 

"They  say  it's  going  up!  Don't  you  want  some, 
Aunt  Kate?"  And  there  was  another  laugh. 

Aunt  Kate  was  even  more  averse  to  speculation  than 
Edward.  What  the  Nicholsons  called  speculation  being 
the  purchase  of  stocks  when  they  were  low,  locking  them 
away,  and  selling  them  when  they  were  high.  The  idea 
of  buying  any  stock  on  margin  was  supposed  to  be  un- 
thinkable for  any  Nicholson  excepting  George.  Kate, 
who  was  extremely  close-fisted,  was  more  secretive  than 
any  of  the  others,  and  it  was  believed  that  all  the  money 
she  could  save  out  of  her  income  —  which  was  derived 
from  her  shares  in  the  Nicholson  Button  Company  — 
was  regularly  invested  in  Government  bonds. 


CHAPTER  III 

Dinner  being  over,  the  party  rose  and  made  for  the 
parlor  with  the  exception  of  Edward,  who  disappeared 
down  the  basement  stairs  into  the  front  basement  room, 
which  he  used  as  a  general  retreat  and  sanctum.  The 
only  diversion  at  the  command  of  the  Nicholson  en- 
tourage was  the  game  known  as  "Five  Hundred,"  and 
Caroline  now  proposed  it  for  the  young  people  with  the 
passing  thought  that  it  would  perhaps  hardly  appeal  to 
so  sophisticated  a  person  as  an  actor,  but  Claire,  Jamie, 
and  George  all  hated  it,  and  Claire,  after  a  whispered 
word  with  Jamie  said: 

"I  think  we  would  rather  have  some  music,  Aunt 
Caroline;  Jamie  is  going  to  play  a  waltz  he  is  com- 
posing ! " 

"All  right,  Jamie;  let's  hear  it!" 

Caroline  settled  herself  in  an  armchair  beside  the  small 
table  which  held  one  of  the  lamps,  and  furtively  slipping 
on  a  pair  of  spectacles,  took  up  some  needlework.  Jamie 
went  to  the  piano  and  struck  into  the  waltz  he  had  be- 
gun before  dinner.  Claire  and  Mallette  took  possession 
of  a  small  sofa.  Orville  had  seated  himself  politely  be- 
side Kate,  and  George  had  joined  them. 

Jamie  began  with  the  preliminary  dashing  chords, 
and  then  swung  into  the  movement  of  the  waltz,  a  cred- 
itable piece  of  the  softly  swaying,  dreamful  kind.  He  had 


50  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

begun  reluctantly  because  the  presence  of  any  member 
of  the  family,  with  the  exception  of  Claire,  made  him 
diffident.  He  knew  that  all  the  things  he  cared  for,  they 
would  either  disapprove  of  or  not  understand,  but  as  he 
played,  Claire  understood  well  that  his  spirit  was  waltz- 
ing to  the  time  of  his  waltz.  His  narrow  shoulders  leaned 
forward,  and  as  he  pressed  the  pedals  his  whole  body 
seemed  to  lift  itself  from  the  piano  stool.  At  times  his 
profile  was  bent  toward  the  keys  and  again  raised  up- 
ward, while  he  swayed  slightly  from  side  to  side.  Claire 
knew  that  Jamie's  soul  was,  for  the  moment,  full  of  joy. 
Dear,  dear  Jamie! 

Claire  said,  when  he  stopped,  "That  was  sweet, 
Jamie!" 

Caroline  had  disappeared,  having  remembered  a  mo- 
ment before  that  she  had  forgotten  to  tell  the  cook  that 
the  salt  cod  she  had  ordered  was  for  fish-cakes  in  the 
morning,  and  Kate,  Orville,  and  George  were  absorbed 
in  discussing  the  future  of  real  estate  in  the  Washington 
Square  district.  Jamie  noticed  this  with  relief.  Claire 
and  Mallette's  sofa  stood  diagonally  in  front  of  the  tall 
pier  glass  between  the  windows  so  that  they  and  Jamie 
seemed  quite  by  themselves. 

"You like  it,  do  you?"  said  Jamie.  "I  thought  per- 
haps the  last  bar  might  be  better  if  it  went  like  this ! " 
and  he  played  it  again.  "You  like  it  better  the  first 
way?"  He  played  a  scale  or  two,  and  then,  after  a 
slight  pause,  began  something,  a  song  apparently, 
which  Claire  did  not  know.   It  had  an  arresting  quality 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  51 

which  instantly  fixed  her  attention,  and  which  caused 
her  to  sit  silent  for  a  moment  after  he  had  finished. 

"What  was  that,  Nicholson?"  asked  Mallette.  "It's 
jolly  good!" 

"A  little  thing  of  mine!"  answered  Jamie.  "Do  you 
like  it?   I  did  n't  think  much  of  it!" 

"Why,  it's  lovely!"  cried  Claire.  "Simply  lovely! 
Is  it  a  song?" 

"You  know  those  poems  of  Dowson's  you  lent  me." 
Jamie  had  turned  to  Mallette.  "I've  been  trying  my 
hand  at  setting  some  of  them  to  music." 

"What  was  the  one  you  played  just  now?"  Mallette 
asked. 

Jamie  answered,  "Exchanges,"  and  repeated  the 
first  verse: 

"  All  that  I  had  I  brought, 
Little  enough,  I  know; 
A  poor  rhyme  roughly  wrought, 

A  rose  to  match  thy  snow: 
All  that  I  had  I  brought.'* 

"How  lovely!"  cried  Claire.  "Who  is  Dowson?  I 
never  heard  of  him ! " 

"He  is  known,"  answered  Mallette,  "but  not  largely. 
He  loved  a  barmaid,  who  jilted  him,  and  died  of  drink  in 
a  bricklayers'  cottage  near  London.  All  this  happened 
in  that  distant  world  which  existed  before  the  war." 

"It  sounds  like  the  story  of  a  real  genius!"  said 
Claire. 

"It  is,"  Mallette  answered. 


52  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

At  that  moment  Kate's  voice  was  heard  addressing 
George's  guest. 

"You  know,  Mr.  Orville,  our  family  have  been  but- 
ton manufacturers  for  three  generations!" 

Claire  burst  into  an  irrepressible  peal  of  almost  hys- 
terical laughter,  causing  Kate,  George,  and  Orville  to 
turn  quickly  for  a  moment  and  then  resume  their  con- 
versation. A  sudden  and  new  sense  of  the  complicated 
absurdities  and  tragedies  of  life  had  seized  Claire.  And 
this  night  it  seemed  about  to  begin  to  open  out  for  her; 
about  to  begin,  like  some  mysterious  night-blooming 
flower,  to  tremble,  its  petals  to  quiver,  as  if  on  the 
verge  of  revealing  itself,  of  disclosing  things  to  her, 
grotesque,  beautiful,  and  strange.  She  wished  to  say  to 
Mallette,  "How  do  you  like  my  world?"  but  could  not. 
Still,  looking  at  him,  she  saw  his  lips  curve  with  a  slight 
quizzical  turn  which  seemed  to  say,  "You  need  n't  ask 
because  I  understand."  Jamie  screened  by  the  piano 
was  making  one  of  his  inimitable  grimaces,  and  sud- 
denly, with  a  feeling  of  disloyalty  in  admitting  Mallette 
even  tacitly  into  too  personal  a  partnership,  her  face 
grew  grave  again.  Something  about  his  foreign  air  and 
crisp  speech  had  caused  the  background  of  her  own  life  to 
assume  a  different  aspect,  blurred,  old,  and  a  little  dull, 
and  for  this  she  was  sorry  and  even  a  little  resentful. 
Presently  Mallette  said  something  which  made  her 
doubt  the  construction  she  had  placed  on  that  quizzical 
look  of  his. 

"I  like  your  world!" 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  53 

"Why?" 

"Because  it  reminds  me  of  home,  and  the  sort  of 
thing  I  have  n't  had  much  of  of  late  years.  Have  you 
been  in  England?" 

"Never.  Does  this  remind  you  of  England?" 

"Not  so  much  in  the  way  it  looks  as  in  the  impression 
it  gives  one  of  something  very  settled.  I  did  n't  know 
that  families  like  yours  existed  over  here!" 

"Don't  you  know  people  here?"  asked  Claire. 

"A  few.  One  house  I  have  been  to  is  a  palace  only 
lately  finished.  Every  effort  has  been  made  to  conceal 
this  fact  with  old  furniture  and  with  surfaces  stained 
to  simulate  age,  but  still  there's  something  so  brand- 
new  about  it,  the  house,  the  servants,  and  the  people 
themselves,  that  one  doubts  if  it  can  be  permanent.  I 
should  n't  be  surprised  at  any  time,  on  going  there,  to 
find  that  the  furniture  had  disappeared  and  that  the 
family  had  returned  to  the  obscurity  of  Harlem  or  some 
such  place.  Do  you  know  the  type?  But  I  suppose  you 
don't!" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do.  They  are  everywhere!" 

Mallette  seemed  to  hesitate  for  a  moment  and  then 
said: 

"I've  met  Mr.  Orville  there  and  your  brother.  They 
don't  remember  me." 

"Do  tell  me  who  they  are!" 

"A  Mrs.  Hampton  and  her  daughter." 

"On  Sixty-Eighth  Street?" 

"Yes." 


54  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"My  aunt  and  cousin,"  said  Claire. 

Mallette  flushed.  "Oh,  I  say,  Miss  Nicholson,  I'm 
sorry!  They  are  n't  really  like  that!  I  simply  hit  upon 
them  to  illustrate  what  we  were  talking  about  and  ex- 
aggerated frightfully!" 

"I  know  you  did.  They  really  are  n't  like  that,  but 
any  one  might  think  so.  They're  very  fashionable. 
Jamie!  Mr.  Mallette  knows  Helena!" 

"I  know  it,"  answered  Jamie.  "I  heard  you.  And 
you  met  George  there?  Funny  he  did  n't  mention  it!" 

Kate  had  said  good-night,  and  as  the  stairs  had 
creaked  under  the  weight  of  Edward  and  Caroline,  on 
their  way  to  their  rooms,  George  and  Orville  now  lighted 
cigars.  George  produced  them.  He  offered  one,  not 
very  cordially,  to  Mallette,  who  declined,  and  returned 
the  case  to  his  pocket.  Jamie  grimaced  again,  and 
Said: 

"Much  obliged,  but  I  don't  think  I  will!" 

"I  don't  either!"  retorted  George.  "You've  got 
cigars  of  your  own!"  » 

"Indeed,  I  have!" 

Jamie  drew  two  enormous  ones  from  his  pocket, 
offered  one  to  Mallette,  who  declined  again,  got  up  and 
lighted  the  other  ostentatiously,  shut  the  door  to  the 
hall,  and,  returning  to  the  piano,  puffing  out  clouds  of 
smoke,  began  to  play  noisily. 

"Don't  do  that!"  said  George.  "You'll  have  uncle 
down  here  in  a  minute!" 

Jamie  swung  into  his  waltz,  again,  swaying  to  and 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  55 

fro,  exaggerating  the  time  and  playing  softly  for  the 
most  part,  but  changing  every  now  and  then  unex- 
pectedly to  the  loud  pedal  with  irritating  emphasis,  as, 
holding  his  cigar  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  he  looked 
steadily  at  George. 

"Don't,  Jamie!"  cried  Claire,  but  Jamie  would  not 
heed  her.  She  and  Mallette  had  got  up  at  her  sugges- 
tion and  joined  George  and  Orville.  They  tried  to  talk, 
but  Jamie's  provocative  manner  of  playing  made  it  im- 
possible, and  presently  George  said  coldly,  he  never 
outwardly  lost  his  temper,  "If  you  don't  stop  that,  I'll 
make  you!" 

Mallette  exclaimed,  "For  Heaven's  sake,  Nicholson, 
you're  getting  on  our  nerves!"  and  Claire  cried  again, 
"Don't,  Jamie,  please!" 

Jamie  took  his  cigar  from  his  mouth  and  began  a 
kind  of  droning  recitative,  drumming  an  accompani- 
ment with  two  fingers. 

"Button,  button,  who's  got  the  button?  Who  talks 
buttons,  thinks  buttons,  dreams  buttons,  would  eat 
buttons  if  he  could?  "Who  does  n't  know  anything  ex- 
cept buttons?  Whose  head  is  a  but —  " 

He  ducked  to  avoid  a  book  which  George,  with  per- 
fect calmness,  had  launched  at  him.  The  book  having 
missed  its  mark,  George  followed  it,  but  was  stopped 
by  Orville,  who,  deftly  seizing  his  wrist,  jerked  him 
into  a  chair.  Jamie  was  about  to  resume  his  recitative, 
when  Claire  threw  her  arms  around  him. 

"All  right,  I'll  stop,  Claire!"  And  as  she  released 


56  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN! 

him  he  got  up,  threw  his  cigar  into  the  fireplace,  and 
faced  George. 

"Do  your  know  what  you  are?  You're  a  cad,  and 
so  is  your  friend.  You  've  met  Mallette  before,  at  Aunt 
Adelaide's,  and  you  did  n't  have  manners  enough  to 
say  so!" 

"Wait  a  moment!"  exclaimed  Mallette  sharply. 
"We'll  drop  that,  if  you  please!" 

"No,  we  won't!"  cried  Jamie  obstinately. 

"It's  no  concern  of  yours!"  said  George. 

"Do  you  deny  it?" 

"I  say  it  does  n't  concern  you!" 

"Do  you  deny  it?"  George  did  not  answer,  and 
Jamie  turned  to  Orville.   "Do  you?" 

Orville  was  plainly  far  from  comfortable,  but  Mallette 
relieved  the  situation  by  saying,  "Really,  Nicholson, 
you're  making  an  ass  of  yourself!  Good-night,  Miss 
Nicholson!"  and  he  held  out  his  hand. 

Claire  saw  that  he  had  flushed  again.  She  took  it, 
saying  deliberately,  "Good-night,  Mr.  Mallette!  Won't 
you  come  in  some  afternoon  when  these  quarrelsome 
boys  are  n't  here?" 

"Wait  a  minute!"  Jamie  cried.  "I'm  coming  too!" 
and  he  followed  Mallette,  who,  after  bowing  to  George 
and  Orville,  had  gone  into  the  hall.  The  front  door 
closed  with  a  slam,  plainly  Jamie's  doing. 

"What  on  earth  did  you  ask  him  to  call  for,  Claire?" 
said  George  at  once.  "I  did  my  best  to  make  it  plain 
that  he  was  n't  wanted!" 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  57 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Do  you  know  anything  against 
him?"  Claire  demanded  resentfully. 

"Well,  dammit,  he's  an  actor!  That's  enough,  isn't 
it?" 

"Helena  knows  him!" 

"Does  she!  Lord  Hazel  wood  happened  to  take  him  to 
call.  That 's  how  he  got  there !  She  '11  probably  drop  him 
as  soon  as  she  decently  can !  Besides,  we  've  had  enough 
of  the  English  for  a  while.  They  got  us  over  there  to 
help  them  out  and  then  thought  it  the  clever  thing  to 
guy  us,  so  everybody  says." 

"How  could  you!  How  could  you  treat  any  one  like 
that !   In  your  own  house ! " 

Claire,  without  even  a  glance  at  Orville,  left  the 
parlor  abruptly,  ran  upstairs  and  locked  her  door. 
Particolor,  who  slept  in  the  lower  regions,  had  been 
taken  down  by  Katie.  The  gas  was  burning  dimly 
and  she  seated  herself  once  more  by  the  window. 

Poor  Jamie !  Something  like  that  was  always  happen- 
ing !  Something  would  irritate  him  and  he  would  become, 
suddenly,  obstinate,  unreasonable,  and  angry.  Things 
upset  him  so!  George's  rudeness  to  Mallette  was  of 
course  unpardonable,  but  it  was  unpardonable  of  Jamie 
to  call  attention  to  it  in  Mallette's  presence.  Jamie,  of 
course,  had  resented  George's  making  fun  of  him  at  the 
dinner  table,  and  had,  without  considering  Mallette, 
seized  the  first  opportunity  to  quarrel  with  him.  Why 
could  n't  George  let  him  alone !  He  was  always  rubbing 
him  the  wrong  way,  as  indeed  were  the  others,  although 


58  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

Edward,  Caroline,  and  Kate  often  seemed  to  do  so 
without  realizing  it.  Poor  Jamie !  He  did  n't  belong  to 
them!  His  restless,  fitful  spirit,  hopelessly  restless  since 
his  life  in  the  army,  fluttering  and  fitful  as  the  flight  of 
a  swallow,  chafed  behind  the  rigid  bars  of  their  hum- 
drum existence.  Jamie  loved  so  much  to  be  happy  and 
was  often  wretched  because  he  could  not  be  happy 
enough.  And  George  apparently  was  in  the  habit  of 
going  to  Aunt  Adelaide's !  He  had  never  mentioned  it. 
How  annoying  that  kind  of  unnecessary  secretiveness 
or  lack  of  frankness! 

Claire's  head  had  hardly  touched  the  pillow  when 
she  slept,  but  very  late  —  during  those  hours  in  the 
night  when  the  city  has  moments  of  complete  stillness 
—  she  found  herself  wide  awake,  listening.  The  house 
was  silent,  but  she  was  vividly  certain  that  she  had  been 
awakened  by  some  sound,  and,  raising  herself  on  one 
elbow,  she  still  listened,  hardly  breathing. 

Yes!  There  it  was;  a  stealthy  step  on  the  stairs  and 
the  creak  of  the  banisters !  Presently  some  one  brushed 
past  her  door,  she  heard  a  deep  breath  or  two,  and 
Jamie's  door  was  softly  closed.  This  was  followed  by  a 
thick,  muttered  exclamation,  and  the  sound  of  a  weight 
of  some  sort,  dropping  heavily  on  Jamie's  bed.  Was  he 
ill?  She  started  up  and,  getting  out  onto  the  floor, 
stood  by  the  door  which  opened  between  her  room  and 
his.  This  door  was  not  used.  In  fact  Jamie's  chest  of 
drawers  stood  against  it  on  the  other  side,  but  through 
it  she  could  hear  more  plainly,  and  presently  a  kind  of 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  59 

thick,  strange  sob  startled  her.  She  hastily  lighted  the 
gas,  thrust  her  feet  into  her  bedroom  slippers,  drew  on 
one  of  those  filmy,  fanciful  things  which  women  have 
christened  "negligees,"  and,  stepping  quickly  but  cau- 
tiously into  the  hall,  she  opened  his  door. 

Mallette  stood  by  the  bed  with  his  hat  on,  looking 
down  at  Jamie,  who  was  lying  on  it  apparently  uncon- 
scious. He  turned  as  she  opened  the  door,  started,  and 
hastily  removed  his  hat.  Claire  was  staring  at  Jamie 
in  terror. 

"What  —  !"  she  began,  but  was  warned  by  a  hurried 
gesture  from  Mallette,  who,  stepping  quickly  past  her, 
closed  the  door. 

"What  is  it,  Mr.  Mallette!  Has  he  been  hurt?" 

Mallette  looked  at  her  closely  and  answered  in  a 
whisper,   "He  is  ill!  He  will  be  all  right  presently ! " 

"But  he  is  unconscious!  I'll  wake  Aunt  Caroline  and 
telephone  for  the  doctor!" 

"No,  no,  please.  He  will  be  all  right  in  the  morning; 
he's  asleep." 

"Has  he  been  drinking?"  she  demanded  suddenly, 
and  immediately  she  noticed  that  the  room  was  full  of 
the  fumes  of  alcohol.  "Has  he  been  drinking — with 
you?    And  you  let  him?" 

Mallette  looked  at  her  with  those  smiling  eyes  which 
seemed  always  to  be  saying  of  life,  "Whatever  you 
bring,  I  welcome  it,  what  does  it  matter!"  and  an- 
swered, "I  will  go  now;  he  will  be  himself  in  the 
morning!" 


60  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

Claire,  disdaining  to  notice  him  further,  bent  over 
Jamie  and  attempted  to  move  him  into  a  more  com- 
fortable position. 

"Jamie!"  she  said  gently,  "Jamie!"  and  was  be- 
ginning to  untie  his  cravat  when  George's  voice  sounded 
in  the  room.  He  had  opened  the  door  just  as  Mallette 
had  put  out  a  hand  for  the  knob.  He  was  enveloped  in 
a  bathrobe  of  Turkish  toweling  and  looked  smaller 
than  usual. 

"What  the  devil  —  !"  he  began,  looked  suspiciously 
about  him,  and  saw  Jamie,  whose  condition  instantly 
explained  the  situation  to  him. 

"Oh,  George!"  cried  Claire.  "He's  —  he 's  drunk!" 

"That's  evident  and  his  friend  here  brought  him 
home.  That's  what  you  get  for  having  anything  to  do 
with  actors!" 

"Hush,  George,  you'll  wake  Aunt  Kate!" 

"I  might  have  left  him  in  a  gutter!"  answered  Mal- 
lette coolly.  He  seemed  to  be  in  less  haste  to  go. 

"It's  a  wonder  you  did  n't." 

Kate's  door  down  the  hall  opened  and  her  head  done 
up  in  curl-papers  appeared  in  it. 

"Claire!  Claire!"  she  called  in  a  startled  voice. 
"What's  the  matter?" 

"What's  the  matter!"  answered  George,  with  no 
attempt  to  moderate  his  voice.  "The  matter  is  that 
our  dear  Jamie  has  been  brought  home  dead  drunk  by 
his  actor  friend." 

"You're  making  the  most  of  a  splendid  chance  to 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  61 

give  your  brother  away,"  remarked  Mallette.  "He'll 
have  your  entire  family  out  of  bed  in  a  moment,  Miss 
Nicholson." 

Claire,  still  ignoring  Mallette,  exclaimed:  "Please, 
George,  do  be  quiet !  Please  go  back  to  bed,  Aunt  Kate ! " 

George  said  to  Mallette,  "Will  you  please  go?" 

"Presently,"  Mallette  answered.  "I  want  to  see  if 
you  intend  to  wake  your  uncle  and  your  other  aunt. 
Such  a  sporting  thing  to  do ! " 

"Will  you  telephone  for  a  policeman,  Claire?" 
George  for  once  seemed  about  to  lose  his  temper. 

And  Claire  said,  "Please  go,  Mr.  Mallette";  and  while 
she  said  it,  she  hated  him  with  her  whole  nature,  for 
Jamie's  condition,  for  being  compelled  to  show  herself 
half-dressed,  for  Kate's  curl-papers,  for  George's  Turk- 
ish toweling  bathrobe,  and  for  the  whole  outrageous  and 
impossible  situation. 

"Please  go,  Mr.  Mallette!"  she  repeated,  and  at  that 
moment  the  voice  of  Edward  rose  from  the  floor  below 
—  not  deep,  but  rather  querulous  and  fretful.  "What  is 
the  matter  up  there?" 

Claire  looked  over  the  balusters  to  answer  and  saw  him 
standing  just  inside  his  door.  How  frightfully  old  he 
looked,  as  he  stood  there  in  his  suit  of  striped  pajamas ! 
She  noticed  his  old  neck,  his  abdomen,  which  seemed 
more  enormous  now  than  she  could  have  thought  pos- 
sible for  any  abdomen  to  be,  and  his  pudgy  bare  feet. 

"It's  all  right,  Uncle  Edward.  Jamie  isn't  feeling 
well.   It's  nothing." 


62  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"  If  you  want  to  know  the  truth,"  George  added,  "he 's 
so  drunk  his  friend  had  to  bring  him  home ! " 

"George!"  exclaimed  Claire  under  her  breath;  "how 
contemptible  of  you ! " 

A  door  closed  vigorously  below  and  as  Claire  looking 
down  saw  that  her  uncle  had  disappeared,  his  key  turned 
sharply  in  the  lock.  The  slight  immediate  complications 
he  proposed  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  evidently.  His 
dignity  would  be  better  served  by  waiting  and  sitting  in 
judgment  in  the  morning. 

Kate's  door  now  reopened  and  she  called  out:  "You 
had  better  tell  Caroline.   He  may  need  a  doctor ! " 

Caroline  herself  spoke  now. 

"Who  needs  a  doctor  —  Jamie?  What's  the  matter 
with  him?"  She,  too,  in  a  Turkish  toweling  bathrobe 
was  halfway  up  the  stairs,  when,  perceiving  Mallette,  she 
turned  and  quickly  went  down  again,  never  stopping 
until  just  inside  her  door,  when  she  repeated : 

"What's  the  matter?  Who  needs  a  doctor?"  And  as 
her  loud  tones  resounded  on  the  stairs  the  Irish  brogue 
of  the  awakened  maids  could  be  heard  from  above. 
Mallette  advanced  to  the  top  of  the  stairs.  Claire  was 
sitting  on  the  bed  beside  the  insensible  Jamie,  George 
was  standing  near  Mallette  eyeing  him  threateningly, 
Kate  could  be  seen  peering  through  the  crack  of  her 
door,  Caroline  was  dimly  discernible  just  inside  hers, 
and  the  tousled  heads  of  the  three  maids,  almost  invis- 
ible in  the  obscurity  of  the  fourth  floor,  projected  over 
the  balusters.     ^' 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  63 

"Miss  Nicholson,"  said  Mallette,  with  his  clear  enun- 
ciation, "your  nephew,  it  is  true,  got  drunk  in  my  com- 
pany. I  tried  to  prevent  it  and  stayed  with  him  for  fear 
some  harm  might  come  to  him.  I  attempted  to  get  him 
to  his  room  without  disturbing  you,  and  would  have 
succeeded  had  not  his  brother,  who  heard  us,  insisted  on 
arousing  your  entire  household.  What  his  purpose  was 
in  doing  so  you  may  be  able  to  judge  better  than  I.  I 
apologize  for  the  part  I  have  unwittingly  played  in  this 
unpleasant  incident  and  say  good-night." 

Mallette  went  downstairs  and  out  of  the  front  door 
without  another  word.  Claire,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
she  hated  him  because  of  Jamie's  condition,  thought 
that  he  had  not  come  out  of  the  affair  so  badly  after 
all,  and  George  looked  for  a  moment  rather  foolish,  but 
with  his  departure  Caroline  immediately  ascended  the 
stairs,  sent  Claire  to  her  room,  and  with  the  assistance 
of  Maggie  proceeded  to  undress  Jamie  and  get  him  into 
bed. 

Claire  lay  and  listened  to  them. 

It  was  not  necessary  to  be  in  Jamie's  room  to  see  Aunt 
Caroline;  Claire  knew  her  every  motion  too  well,  her 
brisk,  unsympathetic,  businesslike  movements.  George 
had  stayed  long  enough  to  convince  Caroline  that  a 
doctor  was  unnecessary  and  had  retired.  Soon  Caroline 
and  Maggie  left  the  room  and  the  house  was  still. 

Claire  got  up  once  more  and  stood  listening  as  she 
had  done  before.  She  stood  until  her  body  ached,  listen- 
ing for  some  possible  sound  which  might  indicate  that 


64  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

all  was  not  well  in  Jamie's  room,  but  gradually  she  be- 
came reassured,  she  heard  him  turn  once  or  twice,  once 
or  twice  a  deep  exhalation  like  a  sigh  almost  of  physical 
contentment  became  audible  to  her,  and  at  last  she  got 
into  bed. 

Although  she  was  very  tired  she  did  so  reluctantly 
because  she  wished  to  go  into  Jamie's  room  and  sit  be- 
side him,  and  she  would  have  gone  had  she  not  begun 
to  resent  the  brutal  exposure  of  his  condition  to  the  fam- 
ily and  to  feel  that  she  had  taken  part  in  it.  Mallette 
had  been  right,  and  if  George  had  betrayed  him  deliber- 
ately she  would  feel  like  never  speaking  to  him  again. , 
One  by  one  they  had  been  summoned  to  inspect  the 
spectacle  of  Jamie  dead  drunk,  the  whole  household !  His 
right  of  privacy,  of  reserve,  torn  away,  and  some  one,  who 
was  not  after  all  the  real  Jamie  in  the  least,  held  up  to 
infamy.  No,  that  was  not  her  Jamie ;  therefore  she  would* 
not  go  in  again.  Jamie  would  not  have  had  it  so,  and  she 
would  wait  until  he  was  himself  once  more.  But  still  there 
was  no  evading  the  unescapable  fact  of  his  drunkenness. 
She  had  heard  once  or  twice  of  young  men  getting  drunk, 
but  she  did  not  live  in  circles  where  such  things  are 
taken  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  the  realization  of  what 
Jamie  had  done  made  her  feel  that  a  crisis  had  arisen  in 
her  life  and  his  of  fearful  portent.  Of  portent  for  her  as 
well  as  for  him,  because  whatever  happened  she  must 
stand  by  him.  Somehow  it  had  been  a  family  habit  to 
find  fault  with  Jamie;  it  never  seemed  to  matter  whether 
there  was  anything  really  worth  finding  fault  about  nor 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  65 

was  the  fault-finding  of  a  particularly  vicious  nature; 
still  it  was  always  recurring,  had  become  the  usual  thing, 
and  now  that  there  would  be  a  real  excuse  for  it  she  could 
well  imagine  the  avidity  with  which  it  would  be  made 
use  of. 

All  this  does  not  mean  that  Claire  was  consciously 
condemning  her  immediate  family .  People  often  become 
so  used  to  friction  as  to  be  unconscious  of  it,  and  while 
their  custom  of  harrying  Jamie  hurt  and  annoyed  her, 
it  did  not  lessen  feelings  of  regard  which  had  become 
second  nature.  Now,  however,  it  might  take  on  a  char- 
acter which  would  call  for  an  active  defense  on  her  part, 
and  which  would  in  consequence  put  a  strain  on  old  hab- 
its of  obedience  and  respect.  And  she  and  Jamie  would 
be  alone  together.  Everybody  would  know  about  it  im- 
mediately, and  nowhere  in  the  Nicholson  family  would 
Jamie  be  able  to  find  refuge  except  with  her. 

Yes,  they  would  be  alone,  and  as  she  settled  slowly 
into  sleep  she  saw  Mallette  looking  at  her  out  of  those 
strange,  smiling  eyes  with  their  look  of  expectant  and 
unquestioning  welcome. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Claire  had  pictured  to  herself  that  night  the  ordeal  of 
breakfast  the  next  morning  when  she  would  be  obliged 
to  listen  to  a  family  castigation  of  the  miserable  Jamie, 
but  she  was  spared  this  in  part  because  both  Edward 
and  George  had  left  the  house  by  the  time  she  reached 
the  breakfast  table.  She  had  slept  so  late  that  Caroline 
had  sent  Annie  to  knock  on  her  door,  and  only  Aunt 
Kate  was  there,  Caroline  having  finished.  She  noticed 
a  breakfast  tray  standing  on  a  small  wall-table  outside 
Jamie's  door  as  she  went  down,  indicating  at  least  that 
Jamie  was  still  in  the  land  of  the  living  and  able  to  take 
nourishment. 

Aunt  Kate  was  always  even  less  talkative  in  the  morn- 
ing than  at  other  times.  One  of  the  crosses  of  her  exist- 
ence was  that  she  had  to  get  up  for  breakfast.  During 
her  whole  life  she  had  dreamed  of  taking  it  in  bed,  but 
such  a  custom  would  have  been  so  at  variance  with  every 
precept  of  the  Nicholson  family  that  she  had  never  had 
the  courage  to  suggest  it. 

She  said  "good-morning"  to  Claire  now  and  went  on 
reading  the  morning  paper  which  was  propped  up  against 
a  silver  jug  used  for  hot  water.  Maggie  brought  in  some 
porridge,  and  went  out  again.  Claire  helped  herself  to 
cream  and  sugar  and  said  to  Kate: 

"How  is  he,  Aunt  Kate?" 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  67 

"Who,  Jamie?" 

"Yes." 

"He's  all  right,  I  think"  —  and  then  to  Claire's  in- 
tense surprise  she  added,  "Such  a  fuss  about  nothing!" 

"But  Aunt  Kate  you  did  n't  see  him!"  Kate's  unex- 
pected note  of  defense  almost  introduced  one  of  cen- 
soriousness  in  her  answer.  Kate  looked  at  her  almost 
somberly.  She  was  handsome,  too,  in  her  dark,  heavy 
way,  and,  glancing  through  the  library  toward  the  parlor 
where  Caroline  and  Annie  could  be  seen,  she  answered : 

"Anybody  would  think  that  no  young  man  ever  got 
drunk  before!" 

Maggie  appeared  again,  this  time  with  a  pot  of  fresh 
coffee.  Caroline  came  bustling  in,  saying  "Phew!  Phew! 
such  a  smell  in  the  parlor !  Can' t  find  out  where  it  comes 
from.  Maggie,  if  you  've  finished  waiting  on  Miss  Claire, 
come  and  help  Annie!"  Caroline  and  Maggie  joined 
Annie.  There  seemed  to  be  a  great  moving  of  furniture 
and  lifting  of  rugs  going  on  in  the  parlor  and  library. 
Claire  sniffed,  but  noticed  nothing  and  went  on  with  her 
breakfast. 

"I  can't  smell  anything,"  Kate  called.  " It 's probably 
sewer  gas!" 

"I  know  what  sewer  gas  smells  like!"  Caroline  called 
back.  "Phew! Phew!" 

Claire  finished  her  breakfast  and  going  out  into  the 
hall  saw  a  letter  lying  on  the  hat-rack.  It  was  addressed 
to  her,  and  she  recognized  the  handwriting  of  her  cousin, 
Helena  Hampton.  To  Claire's  surprise  Helena  asked  her 


68  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

to  take  lunch  with  her  that  day  and  to  let  her  know  by 
telephone.  Claire  telephoned,  found  that  Helena  was 
out,  left  word  that  she  would  be  there  at  one,  and  went 
into  the  hall  again.  She  did  n't  want  to  see  Jamie  until 
he  was  quite  himself  and  Helena's  invitation  was  as  op- 
portune as  it  was  unexpected.  She  would  go  out  at  once 
and  with  the  aid  of  it  manage  to  be  away  most  of  the  day. 

As  she  passed  the  parlor  door  she  saw  Caroline  and 
Maggie  standing  before  Annie,  who  held  some  object 
gingerly  between  a  pair  of  fire-tongs.  Claire  went  in  to 
look  at  it  and  immediately  saw  that  it  was  the  remains 
of  the  large  cigar  Jamie  had  lighted  the  evening  before. 
This  it  was  which  Caroline  had  smelt.  George,  before 
going  to  bed,  had  disposed  of  what  was  left  of  his  own 
cigar  and  Orville's  and  had  aired  the  rooms,  but  he  had 
forgotten  that  Jamie  had  thrown  his  into  the  fireplace 
where  it  had  lain  concealed  behind  the  cast-iron  fire- 
logs  until  its  stale  odor  had  proclaimed  the  fact  that 
something  was  poisoning  the  air  and  had  aroused  Caro- 
line to  begin  a  search  for  it.  All  three  women  were  now 
regarding  it  hostilely,  and  Caroline,  on  seeing  Claire, 
demanded,  "Were  they  smoking  in  here  last  night?" 

"  I  went  up  almost  as  soon  as  you  did,  Aunt  Caroline ! " 
Claire  answered,  and  ran  upstairs  before  Caroline  could 
question  her  further.  She  put  on  her  hat,  and,  waiting 
until  she  heard  Caroline  descend  the  basement  stairs 
for  her  daily  interview  with  the  cook,  quickly  left  the 
house,  stopping  to  tell  Maggie  that  she  would  not  be 
home  for  luncheon. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  69 

Having  the  entire  morning  before  her  she  began  a  slow 
progress  uptown,  stopping  in  various  shops.  By  noon 
she  had  reached  the  park,  and  glad  of  a  chance  to  sit 
down  chose  a  bench  near  the  Sherman  statue. 

If  the  exigencies  of  this  story  required  her  meeting 
Mallette  at  this  point,  it  might  be  thought  that  the  limit 
of  probability  was  being  stretched,  but  as  such  is  not 
the  case  it  must  be  accepted  as  fact  when  it  is  stated 
that  she  did,  at  this  point,  meet  Mallette. 

Mallette  was  passing  without  seeing  her  when,  quite 
by  the  merest  chance  and  much  to  Claire's  annoyance, 
their  eyes  happened  to  meet.  It  was  evident  from  Mal- 
lette's  manner  that  his  thoughts,  far  away,  were  brought 
sharply  back  to  immediate  speculation  as  to  whether 
she  intended  to  recognize  him  or  not.  Claire  bowed  in- 
stinctively, and  he  immediately  stopped  and  came  over 
to  her. 

"Miss  Nicholson,"  he  said  at  once,  "I  was  just  on 
my  way  home  to  write  you  a  note.  I  would  much  rather 
tell  you  verbally  what  I  have  to  say,  so  that  I  consider 
our  meeting  a  fortunate  one.  May  I  sit  down  for  a  mo- 
ment? It  is  about  your  brother." 

Claire  could  not  refuse. 

"I  have  been  thinking,"  he  went  on,  sitting  down  on 
the  bench,  "about  the  incidents  of  last  night.  From  your 
evident  alarm  at  seeing  your  brother  under  the  influence 
of  drink,  it  seemed  probable  that  it  was  the  first  time. " 

"Of  course  it  was  the  first  time!"  answered  Claire, 
almost  sharply.  "I'm  sure  it  was  the  first  time." 


70  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"I  did  not  mean  that  it  was  the  first  time  your  brother 
had  been  under  the  influence  of  drink,  but  the  first  time 
you  had  seen  him  under  it.  Was  it?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Claire. 

"And  have  you  never  suspected  that  he  is  in  the  habit 
sometimes  of  drinking  too  much?" 

Claire  was  about  to  return  indignantly  that  it  was 
unthinkable  when  she  saw  on  Mallette's  face  a  look  of 
commiseration  so  sincere  that  a  horrible  fear  clutched 
at  her  throat  and  prevented  her  from  answering. 

"Because,"  went  on  Mallette,  softening  his  voice,  as 
if  by  doing  so  he  might  lessen  the  shock  of  the  announce- 
ment, "because  it  is  true!" 

Claire  for  a  moment  could  n't  speak  —  her  Jamie ! 

"Do  you  mean  that  he  does  it  often?" 

"I'm  sorry  to  say  I'm  afraid  he  does.  I  took  it  for 
granted  that  his  people  must  know  until  last  night. 
Something  ought  to  be  done  for  him,  Miss  Nicholson! 
He's  such  a  dear  chap!" 

Not  the  most  adroit  calculation  could  have  discovered 
a  sentence  more  fitted  to  reestablish  Mallette  in  Claire's 
esteem  than  that  last  unpremeditated  one.  "A  dear 
chap!"  Yes,  that  was  Jamie,  so  dear,  so  dear! 

"I  am  sure  he  would  stop  for  me,  Mr.  Mallette!" 

"I  am  sure  he  might  want  to,  but  I  am  not  sure  that 
he  would  be  able  to." 

Mallette's  words  opened  a  dark  vista  before  her,  and 
her  eyes  winced. 

"Do  you  mean  — ?" 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  71 

"That  he  has  been  going  on  for  a  good  while.  It  does 
seem  strange  that  none  of  your  family  had  discovered 
it!" 

"I  don't  think  they  were  really  interested  enough  in 
him,  in  what  he  was  doing,  to  make  finding  out  possible. 
/  was  the  only  one  and  I  —  well,  I  never  dreamed  — !" 

"I  know,"  said  Mallette,  "of  course  you  did  n't." 

Claire  turned  her  violet  eyes  on  him  full  of  entreaty. 

"What  must  I  do,  Mr.  Mallette?" 

"Why  don't  you  send  him  abroad?  There's  no  real 
life  for  a  man  of  his  tastes  here  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances, and  then  the  war  has  upset  so  many." 

"Away  from  home,  Mr.  Mallette!" 

Mallette  looked  at  her  so  curiously  that  Claire  knew 
instantly  that  he  was  thinking  that  a  surcease  from  home 
might  be  what  Jamie  most  needed. 

"I  don't  mean  England;  in  some  ways  it's  too  much 
like  New  York;  but  the  Continent,  Paris  preferably. 
The  air  is  so  different;  there  are  serious  workers  there 
at  what  your  brother  loves.  Here  they  play  at  work, 
and  then  —  they  don't  get  drunk  there.  He  would  n't 
either." 

"Do  you  mean  to  study  music?" 

"Yes;  he  loves  it  so.  He  will  never  do  anything  here. 
There  he  would  be  thrown  with  people  who  have  come 
from  everywhere  and  who  are  in  dead  earnest." 

"But  the  war  ended  all  that." 

"Not  altogether.  Life  must  go  on  you  know,  and  it  is 
what  he  needs." 


72  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"Yes,  but  to  make  my  uncle  and  my  aunt  think  so!" 

"But  as  I  understand  it  he  is  n't  dependent  on  them. 
You  may  think  that  I  have  n't  any  right  to  say  so,  but 
I  believe  that  he  should  go  away!" 

"That  means  that  you  think  it's  really  serious!" 

"Believe  me,  Miss  Nicholson,  it  is!" 

Claire  sat  without  speaking  for  a  moment,  depressed 
and  miserable.  Mallette  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees, 
leaning  forward  and  drawing  lines  in  the  gravel  with 
his  stick,  was  silent  too  until  he  made  a  movement  which 
seemed  to  indicate  that  he  was  about  to  go  —  when 
Claire  spoke  quickly  as  if  to  detain  him. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Mallette  —  and  —  I  want  to  apol- 
ogize for  being  rude  to  you  last  night.  I  blamed  you  for 
it  then." 

"I know!  You  see,  I  did  n't  realize  when  I  first  met 
your  brother  that  I  should  become  fond  of  him.  After 
that  I  did  my  best  to  stop  him."  He  got  up  and,  look- 
ing at  her  with  his  smiling  eyes,  said,  "Good-bye,  Miss 
Nicholson!" 

Claire  got  up  too  and  put  out  her  hand,  saying 
warmly:  "Good-bye.  Thank  you  very,  very  much." 

Each  hesitated  as  if  inclined  to  say  something  more, 
decided  not  to,  and  separated  with  a  farewell  murmur 
of  departure.  Claire  walked  out  into  Fifth  Avenue  and 
up  to  Sixty-Eighth  Street  to  her  aunt's  house.  Aunt 
Adelaide's  brougham,  with  its  two  glossy  bays,  stood 
before  the  door.  Horses  were  more  chic  for  town  use 
now  than  motors;  therefore  Aunt  Adelaide  had  them, 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  73 

although  she  was  afraid  of  them  and  thought  them 
much  too  slow.  On  ringing  the  bell  the  footman  in- 
formed Claire  that  she  was  to  go  immediately  to  Miss 
Helena's  sitting-room.  She  mounted  the  broad  staircase 
noiselessly  on  the  thick  carpet  and  knocked  at  the  door 
on  the  third  floor.  Helena's  voice  called,  "Come  in!" 
and  Claire  opened  the  door.  Helena,  with  a  liberal  dis- 
play of  silk  stocking  which  she  immediately  covered, 
was  sitting  by  a  window  with  a  book  in  her  hand.  Al- 
though there  was  no  reason  why  she  should  assume  any 
special  attitude  for  Claire's  sake,  Claire  knew  at  once 
that  her  pose  and  the  quick  withdrawal  of  her  legs 
under  her  skirt  were  both  deliberately  executed  simply 
because  posing  was  a  habit.  On  seeing  Claire,  she  got 
up  and  with  her  fixed  and  artificial  smile  advanced  and 
kissed  Claire's  cheek,  saying: 

"How  sweet  of  you  to  come!  Mamma  told  me  to  say 
that  she  is  terribly  sorry,  but  that  she  is  lunching  out. 
We  will  stop  and  see  her,  going  down,  because  she  wants 
to  say  how  do  you  do.  How  are  Uncle  Edward  and  Aunt 
Caroline  and  Aunt  Kate,  and  George!  She's  such  a 
dear!" 

Claire  could  not  tell  which  "she"  Helena  was  refer- 
ring to,  so  she  asked,  "And  Aunt  Adelaide?" 

"Very  well,  only  simply  dreadfully  tired!  Shall  we 
go  down?  I'm  afraid  there  isn't  very  much  for  lunch- 
eon! How  is  Jamie?  We  never  see  him!  Is  he  as  crazy 
about  music  as  ever?" 

They  descended  to  the  second  floor,  where  Helena, 


74  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

after  knocking,  opened  a  door  into  a  large  room  with 
three  windows  on  Sixty-Eighth  Street.  A  tall,  emaci- 
ated woman,  in  a  white  shirt-waist  and  an  unbecoming 
toque,  was  seated  at  a  large  mahogany  desk  writing 
letters  with  a  worried  expression.  Aunt  Adelaide  was 
putting  on  a  hat  standing  before  a  large  mirror  above 
the  fireplace.  She  was  plump,  pretty,  and  youthful- 
looking.  Helena  said,  "Here  is  Claire,  mamma,"  and 
she  turned  quickly,  thrust  a  final  hatpin  through  her  hair, 
and  coming  toward  Claire  kissed  her  cheek  lightly,  say- 
ing, "How  do  you  do,  my  dear.  How  well  you  look! 
Miss  Smith "  —  this  was  to  the  worried  secretary  — 
"you  need  n't  mind  the  letter  to  Mrs.  Gordon-Phelps. 
I  had  better  attend  to  it  myself.  —  What  is  it?"  A 
maid  had  knocked  at  the  door  and  now  spoke  in  a  low 
voice  so  that  the  others  could  not  hear.  "Why  do  you 
come  to  me?  Go  to  the  housekeeper,"  Aunt  Adelaide 
cried  sharply,  and  the  maid  went  out  again  wearing  a 
disagreeable  expression.  Miss  Smith  now  said,  "Will 
you  look  at  these,  Mrs.  Hampton?  "  and  Aunt  Adelaide 
began  looking  hurriedly  over  a  number  of  letters. 
Presently  she  exclaimed  impatiently :  "  This  is  precisely 
what  I  told  you  not  to  say.  You  are  sending  all  the  re- 
grets to  the  right  people  and  the  acceptances  to  the 
wrong  ones.  Really,  Miss  Smith  —  " 

"But  here  is  your  list,  the  one  marked  'accept'  and 
the  one '  decline,' "  answered  Miss  Smith,  so  timidly  that 
one  could  not  help  inferring  that  even  if  she  were  in  the 
right  she  doubted  whether  she  had  the  right  to  say  so. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  75 

Aunt  Adelaide  looked  at  the  list  and  saw  that  the 
muddle  was  hers.  "Suppose  I  did!  Have  n't  you  been 
my  secretary  long  enough  to  know  what  invitations 
I'm  likely  to  accept  and  what  I'm  likely  to  decline? 
I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  write  them  all  over  again." 

"Won't  to-morrow  do,  Mrs.  Hampton?"  asked  Miss 
Smith  uneasily. 

"I'm  afraid,  Miss  Smith,  that  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
get  some  one  else  if  you  cannot  find  time  to  do  my  work. 
Why  can't  you  do  it  now?" 

"Because  I  have  an  appointment  at  Mrs.  Slade's  at 
two,  Mrs.  Hampton." 

"What  Mrs.  Slade?"  cried  Aunt  Adelaide  sharply. 

"Mrs.  Arthur  Slade." 

"How  long  have  you  been  going  to  Mrs.  Slade's?" 
Aunt  Adelaide's  tone  was  no  longer  sharp,  Mrs.  Slade 
being  a  live  social  wire  with  an  immense  fortune. 

"For  a  year,  Mrs.  Hampton,  but  always  in  the  morn- 
ing until  lately." 

Aunt  Adelaide's  face,  on  hearing  that  Miss  Smith 
had  been  for  a  year  in  Mrs.  Slade's  employ,  took  on  an 
expression  of  involuntary  respect  and  she  replied: 
"Very  well,  then;  I  have  no  objection  to  your  doing 
them  to-morrow.  Au  revoir,  Claire;  au  revoir,  Helena. 
You  know  I  am  lunching  at  the  Bagnalls'."  And  she 
vanished  into  the  gloom  of  the  outer  hall. 

Claire  and  Helena  went  down  another  flight  and 
seated  themselves  at  a  corner  of  the  large,  gloomy 
dining-room,  which  seemed  to  have  been  built  only  to 


76  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

be  used  when  artificially  illuminated.  Claire  discovered 
almost  at  once  that  there  was  n't  very  much  for  lunch- 
eon, measured  by  the  standards  of  a  healthy  young  ap- 
petite. A  silver  dish  was  passed  her  containing  a  small 
quantity  of  creamed  chicken,  preceding  a  scanty  salad 
made  up  of  a  variety  of  cold  vegetables.  There  was  so 
little  that  Claire  was  still  ravenous  when,  on  her  plate 
being  removed,  another  one  took  its  place  on  which 
rested  a  saucer.  The  saucer  was  for  the  purpose  of  de- 
positing in  it  the  preserved  peaches  which  were  now 
passed,  and  after  the  peaches  had  disappeared  the  sub- 
stitution of  finger-bowls  indicated  that  luncheon  was 
at  an  end. 

Helena,  to  compensate  for  its  flagrant  stinginess, 
exerted  herself  to  be  agreeable  and  ordering  coffee, 
offered  Claire  a  cigarette.  Claire  had  eaten  so  little  that 
she  was  obliged  to  refuse,  not  being  much  of  a  smoker. 
Helena  led  the  way  into  a  small  sitting-room  and,  set- 
tling herself  snugly  far  back  on  a  cushioned  sofa,  said, 
as  soon  as  coffee  had  been  brought  in,  "Now  for  a  cosy 
chat!  What  a  sweet  dress,  Claire!" 

"Do  you  like  it?"  said  Claire.  "I  don't,  very  much. 
I  was  wondering  only  yesterday  where  you  got  your 
clothes.  You  have  such  pretty  ones ! " 

"Oh,  my  dear,  I'm  simply  heartbroken!  I'm  afraid 
I  shall  have  to  give  my  dressmaker  up  "  —  information 
about  Helena's  dressmaker  was  evidently  not  forth- 
coming. "But  tell  me  about  Jamie.  What  is  he  doing 
now?  I  saw  you  with  him  again  yesterday  at  Carnegie, 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  77 

talking  with  a  man  I  know.  I  did  n't  know  that  you 
knew  him ! " 

"I  didn't  until  yesterday!"  Claire,  who  had  been 
wondering  why  Helena  had  asked  her  to  luncheon,  was 
wondering  now  if  this  might  be  the  reason. 

"But  how  did  you  meet  him?" 

"Jamie  knew  him!" 

"Jamie!" 

"Yes,  Jamie  knows  him  quite  well.  Mr.  Mallette 
said  he  knew  you." 

"I  adore  Englishmen!"  Helena  cried.  "They  are  so 
much  more  chic  than  our  men.  Of  course,  as  for  marry- 
ing them,  that 's  another  matter  unless  you  can  well  af- 
ford it;  they  're  all  so  poor.   Did  you  like  Mr.  Mallette?  " 

Something  impelled  Claire  to  answer,  "Yes,  but 
George  did  n't!"  —  prepared  to  tell  why.  Helena  said, 
"What  do  you  mean?"  and  Claire  answered: 

"Jamie  brought  him  home  to  dinner  last  night  and 
George  brought  a  Mr.  Orville.  Both  George  and  Mr. 
Orville  had  met  Mr.  Mallette  here,  but  both  pretended 
that  they  had  never  seen  him  before.  Jamie  quarreled 
with  George  about  it." 

The  effect  of  this  statement  on  Helena  was  very 
marked.  She  sat  perfectly  still  as  if  unable  to  move 
while  an  expression  of  deep  confusion  appeared  on  her 
face.  Claire,  who  was  accustomed  to  Helena's  pre- 
possessions, accepted  this  display  without  other  com- 
ment than  the  thought,  "Another  of  Helena's  affairs," 
and  began  to  tell  in  detail  that  part  of  the  evening's 


78  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 


■ 


incidents,  asking  finally:  "Who  is  Mr.  Mallette,  Helena? 
Is  he  really  nice?  I've  never  met  an  actor  before  and 
the  family  are  awfully  prejudiced  against  them." 

Helena,  who  was  herself  once  more,  answered:  "He's 
only  just  become  one.  He  was  in  the  army  before  that. 
He  is  a  friend  of  Lord  Hazelwood's.  It 's  rather  funny, 
is  n't  it,  for  George  and  Mr.  Orville  to  look  down  on 
him !  But  the  English  are  n't  as  popular  with  our  men 
as  they  were." 

"And  who  is  Mr.  Orville?" 

"I  believe  nobody  ever  heard  of  him  until  lately. 
He  comes  from  New  Jersey  somewhere.  He  was  just  a , 
clerk  in  a  broker's  office  in  Wall  Street,  but  now  every- 
body wants  to  know  him.  They  say  he  is  one  of  the 
coming  financial  giants.  I  must  say,  he  has  given  us 
some  very  good  tips!" 

"On  what?"  asked  Claire. 

"Stocks,  of  course!" 

For  some  reason  this  caused  Claire  to  say,  "I  think 
Mr.  Mallette  is  something  of  a  socialist!" 

"He 's  quite  different  from  any  one  I 've  known.  Per- 
haps that  accounts  for  it!  I'm  sure  he's  not  that, 
though!" 

"Do  you  know  what  socialists  are,  Helena?" 

"Heavens,  no;  laborers,  aren't  they?  What  made 
you  think  Mr.  Mallette  is  one?" 

"Jamie  said  so." 

"I  don't  believe  it!"  cried  Helena.  "Please  don't  let 
mother  know;  if  she  knew  he  was  an  actor,  she  would 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  79 

be  furious  with  Lord  Hazelwood  for  bringing  him  here ! 
And  don't  tell  any  one,  Claire,  he  —  Lord  Hazelwood, 
I  mean  —  has  asked  me  to  marry  him.  I  have  n't  told 
mamma  because  I  have  n't  decided,  and  I  'm  sure  she 
would  want  me  to.   What  do  you  think?" 

"I  don't  know  him,"  answered  Claire. 

"Oh,  I  wish  you  did!  Then  you  could  tell  me  what 
you  think  of  him!" 

Claire,  who  would  have  liked  to  meet  an  English 
lord,  reflected  that  it  would  have  been  easy  enough  for 
Helena  to  arrange  it  if  she  had  wanted  to.  Such,  how- 
ever, was  plainly  not  her  intention. 

"Of  course,"  Helena  went  on,  "the  trouble  is  that 
he  has  n't  a  penny.  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  tell 
mamma." 

"But  you  have  enough,  have  n't  you?" 

"For  love  in  a  cottage,  perhaps  —  but  I'm  sure  we'd 
both  tire  of  that.  One  must  have  money  or  life  is  n't 
worth  living,  Claire." 

"Do  you  think  it  makes  much  difference  whether 
you  live  in  a  house  like  ours  or  one  like  yours?" 

"Why,  Claire,  it  makes  all  the  difference!  One  must 
simply  have  everything  one  wants  —  much  more  than 
we  have  —  if  one  is  to  be  absolutely  happy!"  Helena, 
leaning  back,  smiled  as  if  welcoming  a  vision  of  complete 
bliss,  and  Claire  realized  for  the  first  time  what  she  had 
always  been  partly  aware  of  before,  the  physical  appeal, 
invitation  almost,  which  Helena  seemed  deliberately 
to  radiate.   In  her  short  and  scanty  skirts,  under  which 


80  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

her  youthful  body  swelled  buoyantly,  her  stockings  of 
thin  silk,  her  fragile,  high-heeled,  pointed  slippers,  her 
bodice  cut  to  display  her  rounded  neck,  she  seemed  to 
say,  "Behold!  I  am  smooth  and  beautiful!  Would  you 
not  like  me?  If  you  are  rich  enough,  take  me?" 

"But,  Helena,  I  don't  agree  with  you  at  all;  in  fact 
it's  so  well  known  that  money  doesn't  make  people 
happy  that  it's  become  a  truism." 

"Which  everybody  accepts  and  nobody  believes," 
answered  Helena. 

"I'm  sure  many  people  believe  it." 

"Who?  Just  tell  me!  Every  one  we  know  who  is  n't 
rich  is  trying  to  be,  not  for  money  for  its  own  sake,  but 
for  what  it  will  bring  them.  Everybody  may  not  want 
to  buy  the  same  things  with  it,  but  whatever  they  want 
they  can't  get  it  without  money." 

"You  are  talking  of  material  things." 

Helena  fixed  Claire  with  her  pretty  glance  of  wary 
worldliness  and  asked,  "Everything  is  material,  isn't 
it  —  what  other  things  are  there?  "  Claire  would  like  to 
have  answered,  "Things  of  the  spirit!"  A  sudden  real- 
ization that  she  was  not  worthy  to,  prevented,  but  she 
said,  "What  of  the  war?  What  was  it  fought  for  if  not 
to  make  a  better  world?" 

"It's  all  very  well  to  think  about  ideals,"  Helena 
answered,  "but  it  does  n't  get  you  anywhere!  The  war 
was  political  and  nothing  else.  Now  that  it's  over, 
things  will  go  on  as  they  were.  It 's  human  nature.  Why, 
everybody  is  trying  harder  than  ever  to  make  money, 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  81 

and  really  it  is  the  only  thing  that  man  exists  for  —  it 
is  life  —  there's  no  good  saying  it  is  n't,  because  it  is. 
Look  at  Uncle  Edward,  and  George,  and  Mr.  Orville, 
and  every  single  man  who  comes  to  this  house.  Do  you 
suppose  they  bother  about  the  war  now  it's  over?  They 
are  all  trying  to  get  rich;  most  of  them  who  come  here 
are  rich,  mamma  sees  to  that;  and  the  richer  they  are 
the  more  the  world  gives  them ! " 

"And  you  think  that  they  are  happy  because  they're 
just  rich?" 

"I  think  if  they  are  not  it's  their  own  fault." 

"Precisely!"  exclaimed  Claire;  "it's  their  own  fault 
and  money  has  very  little  to  do  with  it.  I  don't  mean 
that  it  would  be  pleasant  to  be  poor,  but  if  what  you 
believe  is  true,  the  richer  you  are  the  happier  you  must 
be,  and  that  is  n't  and  can't  be  true.  Especially  now 
when  we  are  starting  over  again  with  an  opportunity  to 
make  things  better." 

Helena  smiled  her  artificial  smile,  which  seemed  to  re- 
veal the  fact  that  the  topic  no  longer  interested  her: 

"It's  very  sweet  of  you  to  have  such  ideas,  Claire!" 
And  then,  glancing  at  a  little  clock  which  stood  on  a 
writing-table  close  at  hand,  she  jumped  up  —  "Good 
gracious !  Half -past  three !  I  'm  terribly  sorry,  but  I  've 
an  engagement  at  four!  You  won't  mind  if  I  go  and 
put  on  my  hat  —  Perhaps  we  might  —  Which  way  are 
you  going?" 

"I  shall  probably  go  home  straight  down  Fifth 
Avenue,"  Claire  answered. 


82  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"And  I  am  going  uptown,"  said  Helena;  "well,  good- 
bye! It's  been  sweet  to  see  you!"  She  kissed  Claire, 
enveloping  her  in  a  cloud  of  some  delicate  and  unknown 
fragrance,  adding  casually,  "If  you  should  see  Mr.  Mal- 
lette,  tell  him  that  I  am  quite  annoyed  with  him  for  not 
coming  to  see  me!" 

Claire  found  herself  once  more  upon  the  only  prome- 
nade New  York  can  boast.  At  this  point  and  for  some 
distance  south  the  park  spread  its  verdure  on  one  side. 
The  street  whirred  with  the  machines  of  passing  motors. 
A  sight-seeing  bus  overtook  her  rilled  with  wounded 
soldiers.  She  saw  bandages,  pallid  and  listless  faces, 
crutches,  and  here  and  there  an  empty  sleeve  or  trouser 
leg.  A  raucous  voice  issued  from  a  megaphone,  calling 
out:  "Residence  of  Phineas  Smalley,  the  chewing-gum 
millionaire!  Magnificent  mansion  of  C.  Davison  Pitt, 
the  dry-goods  king!  Palace  of  Adophus  Seidenberg,  the 
copper  magnate !  Mansion  of  Mrs.  Jacobson,  widow  of 
the  California  multimillionaire  brewer  whose  daughter 
recently  married  an  Italian  dook!  Magnificent — !" 
The  pallid  and  listless  faces  hardly  turned,  the  raucous 
voice  faded  away  into  the  distant  turmoil  of  the  street. 
An  occasional  note  reached  her,  but  it  seemed  to  her  — 
whimsically  —  as  if  she  could  almost  hear  —  "Magnifi- 
cent residence  of  Edward  Nicholson,  the  millionaire  but- 
ton manufacturer!  Palace  of  Dudley  Orville,  the  Wall 
Street  giant!  Mansion  of  Mr.  George  Nicholson,  the  — 
the  —  "  What  was  George?  A  financier,  too,  she  sup- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  83 

posed,  or  intended  to  be.  "To  make  the  world  safe  for 
democracy ! "  That  trumpet  call !  Did  it  mean  nothing? 
It  must  be  that  out  of  those  four  bloody  years  something 
must  come.  She  had  wanted  to  say,  "Things  of  thespirit," 
to  Helena,  but  had  been  ashamed?  Why?  Because  she 
knew  that  she  was  a  stranger  to  them,  and  if  she,  why 
not  others  ?  Where  must  she  and  others  search  for  them  ? 
Not  in  the  Nicholson  church  could  she  find  them,  she 
knew  that.  And  things  of  the  mind !  Things  of  the  in- 
tellect and  of  the  spirit!  Where  were  they?  What 
Helena  said  seemed  after  all  to  be  true,  that  everybody 
wanted  and  cared  only  for  material  things.  Everything 
else  seemed  unimportant,  not  worth  bothering  about,  so 
long  as  you  could  be  doing  what  everybody  else  did  no 
matter  how  expensive  it  might  be. 

Claire,  walking  at  a  good  pace  through  the  mellow 
glow  of  the  afternoon,  had  reached  Forty-Sixth  Street, 
when  she  saw  a  leg  encased  in  a  very  thin  silk  stocking 
descending  from  a  bus  which  had  stopped  a  little  ahead 
of  her.  Claire  recognized  it  at  once.  It  was  one  of 
Helena's.  The  other  followed  it  immediately  and  Helena 
crossed  the  Avenue.  Remembering  that  Helena  had 
said  that  her  appointment  was  uptown  and  that  Forty- 
Sixth  Street  was  distinctly  the  other  way,  Claire  could 
not  forbear  waiting  on  the  corner.  Helena  hurried  down 
Forty-Sixth  Street  and  vanished  through  the  doorway 
of  the  Ritz. 

Claire  smiled  again,  this  time  half  from  exasperation. 
What  earthly  difference  could  it  have  made  if  Helena 


84  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

had  told  her  that  she  had  an  engagement  at  the  Ritz 
and  they  had  come  down  together?  Any  one  would 
think  that  Helena  was  afraid  that  Claire  would  not 
only  display  undue  curiosity  about  it,  but  even  force 
her  way  into  the  Ritz  to  find  out  who  it  was  with.  That 
kind  of  secretiveness  was  really  exasperating;  George 
had  it,  too.  She  wondered  if  it  was  a  Nicholson  trait. 

Claire,  a  little  tired  and  out  of  sorts  after  her  long 
day  away  from  home,  and  the  rather  sordid  cogitations 
set  in  motion  by  her  conversation  with  Helena,  was 
annoyed  by  this  trivial  incident  and  involuntarily 
looked  about  for  relief.  She  found  it  in  the  proud 
fagade  of  a  picture  dealer  whose  spacious  doorway 
invited  her  entrance  to  an  exhibition,  which  a  poster 
announced  was  being  held  free  of  charge  within. 

Claire  went  in,  crossed  a  wide  and  lofty  hall  and 
entered  a  gallery  where  a  score  of  people,  moving  and 
speaking  as  cautiously  as  if  they  were  in  dangerous 
proximity  to  some  ill-tempered  deity,  were  looking  at 
another  score  of  paintings  winch  hung,  with  dignified 
spaces  between,  on  the  wide  walls  of  the  gallery,  and 
ignoring  the  politely  welcoming  glances  of  two  elegant 
young  salesmen,  who  plainly  intimated  that  they  would 
be  delighted  to  do  the  honors  for  so  handsome  a  girl, 
she  sank  into  the  yielding  embraces  of  a  deep  sofa  up- 
holstered with  an  expensive  covering  of  cut  velvet. 

She  surrendered  herself  at  first  to  the  agreeable  sen- 
sations produced  by  the  soft  cushions  on  which  she  sat, 
the  beautiful  room,  and  the  sudden  quiet  after  the 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  85 

roar  of  the  Avenue,  but  presently  she  began  to  interest 
herself  directly  in  her  immediate  surroundings.  The 
pictures  emerged  first  through  the  veil  of  her  idle  pre- 
occupations and  demanded  her  attention.  They  were 
simple,  vigorous,  bold,  and  poetical,  and  painted  with 
a  palette  and  a  technique  of,  to  Claire,  a  fascinating 
strangeness.  They  were  of  the  sea  and  shore.  An  old 
foreign  town  and  the  sea.  Mountains  and  the  sea.  A 
forest  through  which  one  saw  the  sea.  A  terrace  and  the 
sea.  The  foliage  was  semi-tropical.  Clearly  they  had 
been  painted  in  some  land  she  did  not  know  —  Spain 
or  the  south  of  France.  Claire  got  up,  made  the  tour  of 
the  room,  and  returned  to  her  seat.  The  picture  which 
faced  her  showed  the  dark  aisles  of  a  forest  out  of  which 
one's  eye  swept,  far  into  the  distance,  a  blue  sea  bril- 
liant with  sunshine,  and  as  she  looked  Claire's  spirit 
with  a  sweet  sense  of  exultation  began  to  rise,  to  soar 
aloft.  What  was  this  strange  sweet  feeling  her  soul  re- 
sponded to  so  readily  when  brought  close  to  beauty? 
Plainly  something  to  be  treasured,  something  one  must 
not  lose.  Did  other  people  have  it?  Jamie  had.  But 
commonplace  people  like  the  people  in  this  room:  did 
their  souls  take  wing  as  hers  did?  Claire  began  watching 
them,  trying  without  much  success  to  find  out,  when 
she  noticed  for  the  first  time  a  little  man  standing  near 
her.  He  had  a  broad  forehead  with  pale,  sparse  hair, 
light,  gentle  blue  eyes,  a  small  chin,  and  a  mouth  of 
melancholy  and  whimsical  helplessness.  He  wore  gold- 
rimmcd  spectacles,  and  seemed  to  be  conscious  of  cer- 


86  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

tain  naive  efforts  he  had  evidently  been  making  to 
smarten  himself  up.  A  very  large  stiff  collar  with  a 
badly  tied  tie.  A  pair  of  new  trousers,  rather  large,  too, 
at  the  ends  of  which  appeared  brown  boots  which  he 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  to  polish.  As  he  stood  near 
her  one  of  the  elegant  young  men  approached  and,  ad- 
dressing him  as  Mr.  Humphries,  asked  him  some  ques- 
tion. Mr.  Humphries  replied  to  it  and  the  young  man 
went  away.  Claire  thought  that  she  remembered  the 
name,  and,  looking  at  the  small  catalogue  she  held, 
verified  her  suspicions.  The  little  man,  Mr.  Humphries, 
was  also  the  painter  of  the  pictures  on  exhibition. 

She  began  to  watch  him.  He  would  stand  about 
rather  wretchedly  for  a  time,  as  if  wishing  himself  al- 
most anywhere  else,  and  then  presently  would  begin 
to  look  at  one  of  his  pictures,  when  he  would  change, 
soften,  become  rapt,  almost  exultant  as  Claire  herself 
had  been,  until,  remembering  that  he  was  in  an  inimical 
place,  he  would  start  slightly  and  begin  furtively  to 
search  the  faces  of  the  visitors.  He  would  search  ques- 
tioningly,  anxiously,  presently  to  turn  away  with  an 
expression  of  whimsical  depression,  and  go  back  to 
renewed  absorption  of  one  of  his  canvases.  "How  he 
loves  them!"  thought  Claire;  "and  how  he  watches, 
trying  to  find,  as  I  tried  to  find,  some  one  who  is  really 
touched  by  them!  But  that  is  expecting  too  much,  per- 
haps; they  do  not  wear  their  hearts  on  their  sleeve  any 
more  than  I,  poor  little  man ! " 

Claire  got  up  to  go  and  glanced  at  him  once  more. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  87 

But  was  he  poor?  He  was  standing  before  the  painting 
which  had  faced  Claire,  looking  through  the  dark  forest 
aisles  out  to  sea  with  a  look  of  bland  pleasure  and  of 
reminiscent  love.  "He  is  painting  his  picture  over 
again,"  said  Claire  to  herself.  "He  does  not  care  for 
material  things."  And  yet  in  him,  too,  she  was  aware  of 
an  element  of  egoistic  preoccupation.  Ah,  money !  Per- 
haps, as  Mallette  had  said,  all  the  old  prepossessions 
must  be  cast  aside  and  the  solutions  of  the  future  be 
found  only  in  efforts  wholly  altruistic. 
s    "A  very  remarkable  exhibition!" 

One  of  the  elegant  young  men  stood  smiling  defer- 
entially before  her. 

"Very,"  Claire  assented.  "Have  any  of  them  been 
sold?" 

"Not  yet,"  answered  the  young  man,  "but  we  are 
almost  sure  to  sell  some  of  them.  They  are  to  be  here 
all  next  week.  Mr.  Phineas  Smalley,  the  chew  —  ahem ! 
manufacturer  —  perhaps  you  know  his  new  palace  on 
the  Avenue  —  who  is  collecting  modern  American  pic- 
tures, has  made  an  offer  for  one  of  them.  Are  you 
especially  interested  in  American  paintings?" 

"Yes,  in  all  paintings,"  answered  Claire  with  a  smile, 
and,  eluding  the  young  salesman's  effort  to  open  a  con- 
versation, she  found  herself  once  more  on  the  Avenue. 
She  turned  south  intending  to  go  directly  home,  but 
almost  at  once  she  realized  that  she  was  very  hungry. 
Helena's  meager  luncheon  must  be  supplemented,  or 
she  could  not  possibly  wait  for  dinner,  and  as  she  was 


88  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

passing  Sherry's  she  turned  down  toward  its  entrance. 
Mounting  the  steps  she  was  about  to  enter,  when, 
glancing  in,  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  since  the  day  before 
nothing  had  changed.  The  same  fashionably  dressed 
women  and  the  same  young  and  old  men  seemed  to 
be  waiting  about  in  the  same  attitudes,  and  a  sudden 
distaste  which  it  might  have  been  difficult  for  her  to 
analyze  caused  her  to  turn  toward  the  Avenue  once 
more  and  seek  a  small  tea-room  she  remembered  having 
seen  in  one  of  the  side  streets  lower  down.  She  sat  here 
for  half  an  hour  and  then  continued  her  journey.  Dusk 
had  come  when  she  reached  home.  As  she  let  herself 
into  the  house  the  sound  of  the  piano  met  her.  Some 
one  was  playing  softly  in  the  parlor,  and  looking  in  she 
saw  Jamie.  By  that  intuitive  knowledge  one  has  about 
a  dwelling-place  long  lived  in  under  unchanging  con- 
ditions, Claire  knew  that  no  one  —  with  the  exception 
of  the  maids  —  was  at  home.  Jamie  had  come  down 
secure  in  his  loneliness  and  had  not  heard  her  come  in. 
In  the  dusk  of  the  room,  illuminated  by  the  fading 
light  which  came  from  the  tall  windows,  he  looked,  she 
thought,  pale  and  rather  ill,  but  his  face  wore  the  same 
look  of  rapt  absorption  she  had  seen  on  the  little 
painter's  earlier  in  the  afternoon,  an  expression  of 
pensive  and  simple  joy. 

He  was  playing  something,  trying  certain  bars  over 
and  over,  and  Claire  was  sure  that  it  was  a  composition 
of  his  own.  How  sweet  it  was,  how  searching!  Dear, 
dear  Jamie,  and  she  went  into  the  room,  almost  for- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  89 

getting  the  distressing  circumstances  of  the  night  be- 
fore, but  Jamie  recalled  them  to  her,  for,  as  if  confused 
and  startled  by  her  sudden  entrance,  he  stopped  and 
rose,  looking  at  her  with  an  expression  of  ashamed  ap- 
peal which  touched  Claire  inexpressibly,  and  going 
up  to  him  she  put  her  arms  around  him  and,  without 
speaking,  pressed  him  to  her.  She  felt  Jamie's  arms 
enfold  her,  too,  and  in  the  dusk  they  stood  there  long, 
in  silence,  strained  in  an  ineffable  embrace. 


CHAPTER  V 

The  front  door  opened  and  closed  again,  a  hat  was 
hung  on  the  hat-rack,  and  they  heard  some  one  going 
upstairs.  From  the  sound  of  the  hat,  it  was  plain  that 
either  Edward  or  George  had  entered,  and  each  knew, 
intuitively,  or  by  some  slight  sign,  the  character  of  the 
step  on  the  hall  floor,  the  nature  of  the  slight  creak 
emitted  by  the  stairway,  that  of  these  two  it  must  be 
Edward. 

A  door  closed  immediately  overhead  confirming  their 
deductions. 

"Come,  darling"  —  Claire  spoke  almost  in  a  whisper 
—  "we  must  go  up;  it  is  almost  dinner-time." 

Jamie,  she  could  tell,  was  hesitating,  and  presently  he 
said,  whispering  too  in  the  darkness  which  now  filled 
the  room: 

"I  —  I  say,  Claire.  I  don't  want  to  have  dinner  here. 
Can't  we  go  out  somewhere  —  to  the  Brevoort?" 

Claire  perceived  in  a  flash  that  this  suggestion  was  a 
good  one.  It  would  be  much  better  for  Jamie  to  rejoin 
the  family  current  the  next  morning  at  breakfast  than 
that  night.  In  that  way,  appearing  at  an  informal  and 
rather  desultory  meal,  with  Edward  and  George  in  a 
hurry  to  get  away,  the  regular  routine  could  be  resumed 
more  gradually.  Then,  too,  if  she  left  word  that  she 
and  Jamie  were  dining  out  together,  it  would  serve  as  a 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  91 

hint  that  she  had  taken  Jamie  under  her  protection, 
and  that  in  dealing  with  him  they  must  consider  her. 

"Of  course  we  can!  I'll  tell  Maggie!"  And  she 
started  toward  the  dining-room  just  as  Maggie,  with  the 
punctuality  of  an  automaton,  appeared  with  her  brass 
instrument  for  the  purpose  of  lighting  up  the  parlor. 

"Mr.  Jamie  and  I  are  dining  out,  Maggie." 

"Yes,  Miss  Claire." 

They  went  into  the  hall,  and  as  Jamie  took  his  hat 
from  the  rack  both  saw  that  one  side  of  it  was  dented 
in  and  covered  with  dust.  Jamie,  with  a  movement 
half  furtive,  half  apologetic,  straightened  and  brushed  it 
hastily,  and  they  went  out,  but  this  slight  incident  had 
changed  Claire's  mood.  She  had  thought  to  walk  hand 
in  hand  with  him  in  the  darkening  street  until  they 
reached  Fifth  Avenue,  but  the  sight  of  his  soiled  and 
dented  hat,  silent  testimony  of  his  degradation  —  tem- 
porary at  least  —  had  depressed  her  horribly  and 
brought  back  suddenly  Mallette's  fears  for  his  future 
unless  something  were  done.  They  walked  side  by  side 
in  silence  until  Jamie  said: 

"Mallette  may  be  there.  He  almost  always  dines 
there.   He  lives  in  the  Square,  you  know." 

"But,  Jamie,  why  does  n't  he  do  something  better 
than  being  an  actor?  Not  that  being  an  actor  is  n't  all 
right,  but  I  don't  suppose  he  is  prominent  or  I  should 
have  heard  of  him." 

"He  is  n't.  He's  a  good  light  actor.  But  he's  got 
to  live.   Thousands  and  thousands  are  being  thrown 


92  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

into  civil  life  now  the  war  is  over.  We'll  go  to  see  him 
sometime." 

"But  what  is  he,  Jamie?  I  mean  what  was  he  before 
the  war?" 

"I  don't  know  much  about  him." 

Jamie  went  on  rather  desperately  after  a  moment: 

"But  what  I  like  about  Mallette  is  that  if  he  had  n't 
a  cent  to  his  name  or  a  shirt  to  his  back,  he'd  be  just  the 
same;  it  would  n't  change  his  spirit.  I  mean  that  some- 
body 's  got  to  see  to  it  that  something  has  got  to  come 
of  all  those  four  years  of  suffering  which  are  just  over. 
Do  you  suppose  that  people  like  our  family  and  like 
that  rotten  Orville  care  a  damn  about  it?" 

"Oh,  Jamie,"  breathed  Claire  in  remonstrance,  "you 
mustn't!" 

"Well,  I'm  sick  of  it,  Claire,  and  if  they're  going  to 
jump  on  me,  as  I  know  they  will,  I  '11  tell  them  what  I 
think.  I  behave  badly  at  times,  I  '11  admit,  but  there  are 
reasons,  and  I'm  going  to  tell  them  that  they  have  n't 
any  more  conception  of  what  the  war  was  really  like 
than  they  have  of  what  is  going  on  in  Mars.  That  if 
they  had,  they  'd  kick  over  their  household  gods  and  try 
to  change  things.  Ten  million  lives  were  lost.  Do  you 
think  it  has  made  the  slightest  impression  on  them? 
Made  them  feel  that  with  such  things  possible  something 
is  wrong  which  ought  to  be  set  right?" 

"I  know  it,  Jamie;  but  nobody  could  be  kinder  than 
Aunt  Caroline." 

"I  know;  but  I  want  them  to  understand  that  there 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  93 

are  people  in  the  world  who  can't  be  happy  living  as 
they  do.  I  want  them  to  understand  there  are  such 
things  as  ideals,  and  I  want  them  to  have  a  few  them- 
selves.  I  don't  care  anything  about  their  being  kind ! " 

"But  must  n't  idealists  be  kind?" 

"Certainly  not!  That's  the  trouble  with  them. 
They're  usually  so  damned  kind  that  nobody  has  any 
opinion  of  them.  That's  what  I  like  about  Mallette. 
He's  an  idealist  if  you  like,  but  he  is  n't  kind!  And,  be- 
sides, I  don't  call  Aunt  Caroline  and  the  rest  of  them 
kind.  They  're  all  right  if  you  're  like  them,  but  if  they 
don't  understand  you,  you're  simply  beyond  the  pale!" 

Jamie  paused,  and  glancing  quickly  at  Claire  re- 
sumed in  a  different  tone:  "And,  Claire,  don't  —  don't 
think  I'm  trying  to  excuse  myself  for  anything  I've 
done  —  because  I  'm  not ! " 

"I  know.  But  try  not  to  do  it  again,  Jamie.  It  hurt 
me  so!" 

"Yes,  Claire!"  he  answered  simply;  and  they  were 
back  again  in  their  old  relationship,  that  of  simply  lov- 
ing one  another. 

"And,  Jamie,  I'm  going  to  see  if  I  can't  get  Uncle 
Edward  to  let  you  go  abroad.   You  really  ought  to  go." 

"If  he  only  would,"  replied  Jamie.  "Is  n't  it  silly, 
Claire?  Here  I  am  wasting  my  time  at  the  office  where 
I'm  no  earthly  use,  when  I  might  be  developing  what 
talent  I  have  got  to  some  good  purpose.  I  try  to  work, 
but  it  plays  the  devil  with  me,  I  hate  it  so;  and  some- 
times I  feel  that  I  must  do  something  devilish  or  simply 


94  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

explode.  If  I  were  to  explain  that  to  them,  do  you  think 
they  would  understand  me  in  the  least,  or  try  to?  No; 
they  would  think  either  that  I  was  n't  telling  the  truth 
or  that  I  could  be  like  them,  if  it  was  n't  that  I  was  in- 
corrigible and  would  n't  try.  That's  what  you'll  find 
yourself  up  against  when  you  tackle  Uncle  Edward." 

"I  know  it,  Jamie,  but  I'm  going  to  do  my  best." 

"I  know  you  will,  but  that's  what  you'll  be  up 
against!  Prejudice  —  blind  prejudice!  You  and  I,  and 
the  new  generations  or  forces  coming  up  in  the  world, 
try  to  do  things  and  prejudice  is  always  trying  to  block 
us  and  them.   It  makes  your  blood  boil  to  think  of  it." 

They  found  an  empty  table  in  the  lower  floor  by  a 
window  which  gave  them,  by  looking  out  slantingly,  a 
view  of  a  corner  of  the  Arch  and  behind  it  the  leafage  of 
Washington  Squa»e.  The  pavement  from  this  basement 
room  ran  past  them  almost  level  with  their  eyes,  and 
under  the  trees  there  was  a  continuous  scurry  of  taxi- 
cabs  and  buses,  and  through  the  open  windows  a  faint 
mild  breath  of  spring  came  occasionally  and  touched 
their  faces. 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  see  whether  Mallette  is  here?" 

"Not  at  all,"  answered  Claire;  "ask  him  to  dine  with 
us  if  you  want  to." 

Jamie  returned  presently  to  say  that  he  had  not  found 
Mallette,  but  had  left  word  for  him  to  join  them  in  case 
he  did  come  in,  and  before  their  dinner  arrived  he  was 
seen  approaching. 

When  they  had  ordered  dinner,  Claire  and  Jamie  had 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  95 

avoided  any  question  of  beverage,  but  Mallette  im- 
mediately ordered  a  Scotch  and  soda,  saying  to  Jamie, 
"You  won't  have  any,  I  suppose!"  with  an  unstudied 
frankness  which  surprised  Claire  not  a  little.  But  this 
transparent  frankness,  which  displayed  itself  as  one  of 
Mallette's  unmistakable  traits,  seemed  to  place  them  at 
their  ease,  seemed  to  proclaim  that  if  there  was  any- 
thing necessary  to  be  said  about  Jamie's  behavior  he 
would  have  said  it  at  once,  and  as  he  did  not  they  might 
both,  Jamie  and  Claire,  forget  their  doubts  and  appre- 
hensions for  the  moment  with  a  clear  conscience  and 
enjoy  the  hour  as  they  might.  It  seemed  to  Claire  as  if 
things,  temporarily  at  least,  had  been  taken  out  of  her 
hands;  that  she  had  been  bidden  not  to  worry,  and 
her  spirits  rose.  Jamie,  too,  began  to  revive  perceptibly 
and  his  whimsical  expression  began  to  show  itself  once 
more. 

Presently  Claire  gave  Mallette  Helena's  message. 
Mallette  acknowledged  the  invitation  politely  and 
made  no  further  comment,  but  Jamie  indulged  in  one  of 
his  grimaces  and  supplemented  it  by  saying,  "Why  on 
earth  should  Helena  want  to  see  you? " 

"Why,  Jamie!"  Claire  exclaimed. 

"Mallette  does  n't  mind,"  answered  Jamie  reassur- 
ingly. "We're  very  frank  with  each  other  —  Mallette 
and  I  —  and  he  knows  the  queerest  people!" 

"And  don't  you?"  challenged  Mallette. 

"I  mean  so  diverse  —  Helena  at  one  end,  and  street- 
cleaners  and  people  like  that  at  the  other!" 


96  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"That  was  at  first,"  explained  Mallette  somewhat 
enigmatically. 

"At  first?"  asked  Claire. 

"  I  mean  when  I  first  came  here.  I  was  so  keen  to  find 
out  what  America  was  like,  I  made  friends  with  every- 
body." 

"I  expect  you  found  it  like  any  other  place,"  Jamie 
observed. 

"Very  like,"  answered  Mallette. 

"Did  you  expect  to  find  it  different?"  asked  Claire. 

"I  did,  rather.  In  one  way  it  is  different.  You're 
kinder  here  than  people  are  in  old  countries.  But  that 
is  not  a  virtue." 

"  We  were  talking  about  kindness  —  Jamie  and  I  — 
just  a  little  while  ago.  Jamie  does  n't  believe  in  it 
either." 

"I  believe  in  it,  but  people  should  be  just  first  — 
kind  afterwards." 

"Oh,  no,  no!"  Claire  answered.  "I  would  never 
agree  with  you  there.  What  a  place  the  world  would 
be  if  justice  ruled  instead  of  kindness ! " 

"And  what  a  place  it  is,  with  neither  ruling!" 

"Are  you  forever  finding  fault  with  it?" 

"Not  for  myself,"  he  answered;  "hardly  anybody 
gets  more  out  of  it  than  I  do;  but  when  I  look  at  it  as 
I  would  like  to  be  able  to  look  at  everything  if  I  chose, 
from  a  point  of  view  absolutely  impersonal  and  de- 
tached.  Have  you  ever  tried  to  do  that?" 

"But  why  should  I?"  asked  Claire,  looking  at  him 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  97 

out  of  her  fresh  young  eyes  so  challengingly  that  he 
smiled,  answering:  "Why  should  you,  indeed!" 

"Not  that  I  would  not  like  to  know  and  understand 
many  things  I  don't  know  now,"  Claire  resumed;  "but 
sometimes  I  feel  afraid  that  a  good  many  of  them  might 
make  me  unhappy ! " 

"  But  the  time  is  coming  when  people  will  no  longer 
avoid  things  which  might  make  them  unhappy.  In 
each  generation  more  and  more  men  and  women  are 
being  born  into  the  world  supplied  with  a  sense  which 
our  forefathers  lacked,  a  sense  which  makes  injustice 
intolerable  to  them;  and  when  there  are  enough  of 
them,  things  will  change,  and  the  curse  of  the  world 
will  disappear." 

"What  curse?"  asked  Claire. 

"Exploitation!  Did  n't  you  know?"  Mallette  re- 
plied almost  solemnly. 

Claire  blushed  but  she  answered  bravely : 

"No,  I  did  not.   What  is  exploitation?" 

"The  economic  and  political  enslavement  of  the  great 
mass  of  humanity." 

"Slaves!"  cried  Claire;  "how  can  they  be  slaves?" 

"Has  not  this  war  shown  us  the  political  slavery  of 
man?  As  to  his  economic  slavery,  do  you  know  how 
poor  people  live?" 

"Some  of  them  live  in  tenement  houses  just  behind 
our  house." 

"Watch  them  sometimes  and  see  if  you  think  they 
live  as  they  do  from  choice  or  from  necessity?" 


98  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"If  they  do  not  like  living  as  they  do,  can't  they 
change?" 

"Can  they?  Ask  them." 

"But  surely  men  who  are  born  poor,  but  who  have 
ability,  make  places  for  themselves  in  the  world?" 

"And  the  others?" 

"They  are  incompetent,  I  suppose,  or  lazy." 

"And  can  we  let  it  go  at  that?  I'm  afraid  not.  How 
many  of  the  rich  are  incompetent  and  lazy,  too?  Do 
they  suffer  for  it,  as  the  poor  suffer?  No,  there  is  not 
only  a  sense  of  social  responsibility,  but  an  impatience, 
a  rebellion  against  old  conditions  growing  up  in  the 
world  which  we  can't  escape,  and  if  our  present  social 
machinery  will  not  remedy  things  for  us,  we  must  disre- 
gard it  altogether  or  scrap  it  completely." 

As  Mallette  spoke,  Claire  saw  that  his  eyes  still 
smiled,  but  that  a  blaze  pierced  through  the  smile. 

"Something  may  happen,  something  vast  and  unset- 
tling has  happened,  which  I  believe  will  bring  these 
changes  quickly  —  but  quickly  or  slowly,  they  will 
come." 

As  Mallette  was  speaking,  Claire's  eyes  had  rested  on 
a  small  jar  which,  standing  on  that  end  of  the  table 
which  touched  the  wall,  held  a  bouquet.  The  jar,  wide- 
mouthed,  simple  in  outline,  and  finished  with  a  rough 
soft  glaze  of  warm  and  yet  pale  gray,  seemed  familiar 
to  her,  and  looking  at  it  more  intently  she  saw  that  a 
series  of  letters  widely  spaced  encircled  it  marked  in  the 
glaze  near  its  lower  edge.   Taking  the  vase  in  her  hand 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  99 

to  examine  them  more  closely,  and  beginning  with  the 
letter  "M"  which  a  larger  space  preceding  it  seemed  to 
indicate  as  the  initial  letter,  she  spelled  out,  turning  the 
vase  slowly,  "M-a-1-l-e-t-t-e." 

"Why,  how  funny!"  Claire  exclaimed,  looking  up  at 
him.  "Here  is  your  name  written  in  the  glaze  of  this 
jar!" 

Mallette  smiled. 

"Have  you  never  seen  that  jar  before?" 

"Let  me  see;  yes,  it's  —  it's — " 

"A  jampot!" 

"Of  course!  I've  seen  them  ever  since  I  was  a  child, 
but  without  its  label  I  did  n't  recognize  it  at  first.  And 
that's  where  I've  seen  your  name.  I  thought  I  had 
heard  it  before." 

"Yes,  'Mallette's  Jams'  and  'Mallette's  Marma- 
lades '  are  household  phrases.  We  have  been  making 
them  for  three  generations  now." 

"Are  you  related  — ?"  began  Claire. 

"The  present  Mallette  is  my  father." 

"But,  jam,  Mallette!  It's  worse  even  than  but- 
tons!" Jamie  exclaimed. 

"The  making  of  jam  is  an  honorable  occupation," 
answered  Mallette;  "just  as  the  making  of  buttons  is  an 
honorable  occupation  if  it  is  conducted  honorably." 

The  table  had  been  cleared,  and  the  waiter,  put- 
ting down  the  coffee,  disappeared.  Mallette  and  Jamie 
lighted  cigarettes. 

"There  are  two  great  jam  concerns  in  England," 


100  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

Mallette  began  —  "Mallette's  and  Small's;  and  for 
three  generations  the  Mallettes,  as  I  have  said,  and  the 
Smalls,  too,  have  been  drawing  riches  from  their  fac- 
tories. The  fact  that  the  making  of  jam  is  an  honorable 
occupation  is  attested  in  the  case  of  the  Mallettes  and 
the  Smalls  by  the  general  esteem  in  which  they  are 
held,  although  this  may  be  accounted  for  rather  by  the 
amount  of  money  they  have  made  out  of  their  business 
than  by  the  nature  of  the  business  itself.  In  our  family 
life  one  would  hardly  know  that  we  manufactured  jam 
at  all.  Mallette's  jam  is  not  even  served  at  our  table  — 
it  was  always  Small's;  and  it  is  said  that  at  the  Smalls' 
table  it  was  always  Mallette's,  a  custom  which  has 
become  traditional:  each  house  in  this  way  shirking  a 
disagreeable  actuality  and  at  the  same  time  paying 
a  graceful  compliment  to  the  other.  As  I  grew  up  and 
began  to  read,  I  saw,  of  course,  the  lavish  advertise- 
ments of  Mallette's  jams;  but  I  never  connected  them 
with  my  family  until  I  was  ten,  when  I  was  enlightened 
by  a  schoolmate  who  taunted  me  with  the  fact;  but  his 
statement  had  no  disagreeable  consequences  as  far  as 
I  was  concerned,  because  my  wealth  made  me  so  much 
of  a  personage  with  the  masters  that  the  offending  boy 
was  reprimanded  severely!" 

Mallette  paused. 

"Would  you  like  to  hear  a  little  more  about  myself, 
or  does  it  bore  you?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,  please!"  both  Claire  and  Jamie  answered, 
and  he  went  on. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  101 

"We  had  a  house  in  London,  another  in  Kent,  another 
in  Scotland,  and  were  forever  going  about  from  one  to 
another  as  rich  people  do.  We  really  had  more  money 
than  we  knew  what  to  do  with,  and  had  always  had,  and 
as  I  was  an  only  son  —  I  have  a  sister  older  than  I  —  it 
was  not  stinted  on  my  education.  During  my  last  sum- 
mer holiday  at  Oxford  I  went  into  the  East  End  of  Lon- 
don to  stop  with  a  college  friend  who  was  spending  his 
vacation  there  as  a  settlement  worker.  A  clergyman, 
a  relative  of  his,  had  founded  the  place  and  my  friend 
had  a  room  there  which  I  shared.  The  experience  was 
depressing  at  first,  but  intensely  interesting;  it  was  a 
change,  being  lost  among  these  strange  swarms  —  more 
complete  than  any  I  had  ever  known,  and  the  self-sacri- 
fice of  the  people  living  in  that  little  house  was  really  too 
fine  for  any  words  to  express.  After  I  had  been  there 
a  fortnight  he  took  me  to  a  dance-hall  conducted  by  the 
settlement  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  the  young  of  both 
sexes  off  the  streets.  I  can't  tell  you  how  it  interested 
and  yet  repelled  me.  It  interested  me  because  their  en- 
joyment of  the  place  was  so  keen,  so  avid,  as  if  they  were 
drinking  in  something  they  were  starving  for,  that  it 
roused  an  intense  feeling  of  compassion,  and  they  re- 
pelled me  because  of  their  bodies,  so  pale;  their  thick 
hands,  their  bad  teeth,  their  cheap  clothing,  and  because 
of  a  feeling  that  they  could  not  be  clean,  and  that  they 
lived  under  conditions  which  would  be  for  me  simply 
intolerable. 

"On  our  way  home  that  night  I  asked  my  friend 


102  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

about  them,  how  they  lived  and  where  they  were  em- 
ployed, if  employed  at  all. 

"  'Rather! '  he  answered;  'they  all  work,  most  of  them 
in  the  jam  factories  —  Mallette's  —  or  Small's.' 

"It  may  seem  incredible,  but  at  that  time  I  did  not 
even  know  that  our  factories  were  in  the  East  End  of 
London.  Whether  my  friend  mentioned  the  name  Mal- 
lette  inadvertently,  or  did  not  know  my  connection  with 
it,  does  n't  matter.  I  went  out  the  next  morning  to  look 
for  our  factories.  They  were  not  hard  to  find,  and  pres- 
ently I  saw  them,  a  huge  pile  of  buildings,  irregular  in 
shape,  as  if  they  had  grown  by  degrees,  so  that  you  had  to 
walk  down  more  than  one  street  before  you  could  really 
comprehend  their  extent.  At  one  place  a  gateway, 
which  was  the  main  entrance,  opened  into  a  large,  irregu- 
lar courtyard,  and  at  one  side  of  the  courtyard  stood  a 
small  building  with  a  sign  on  one  side  which  indicated  it 
as  the  general  office  of  the  works.  Down  each  street 
along  the  top  story  of  each  building  the  word  *  Mallette ' 
was  printed  in  really  gigantic  letters.  I  kept  out  of  any 
line  of  vision  afforded  by  the  position  of  the  office  and 
wandered  about,  looking  at  the  buildings  from  every 
point  of  view,  listening  to  the  sounds  of  machinery,  until 
all  at  once  a  whistle  sounded  and  the  workers  began  to 
appear,  first  by  ones  and  twos,  then  in  large  groups,  then 
in  a  steady  stream  which  poured  out  of  the  gateway  in 
a  torrent,  and  as  I  stood  looking  at  them  a  feeling  of 
fright,  of  real  terror,  took  hold  of  me.  All  this  was  mine 
—  my  father  had  often  said  so  —  the  buildings,  the 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  103 

trucks,  the  machinery,  the  clerks,  the  bookkeepers,  the 
foreign  branches,  the  whole  great  business,  and  —  as 
it  suddenly  struck  me  —  the  workers.  They  were  mine, 
too  —  anaemic,  ill-nourished,  prematurely  old,  broken 
down  before  their  time,  ignorant,  and  without  hope  of 
any  change!  They  were  my  slaves,  working  for  me,  a 
man  that  they  had  never  seen,  for  wages  which  made  of 
life  a  disgraceful  thing,  so  that  I  might  live  in  luxury; 
and  a  cold  sweat  broke  out  on  me,  and  I  remember  grip- 
ping my  hands  together  and  saying  to  myself  through 
my  clenched  teeth,  'I  will  not  have  them!  I  will  not! 
I  will  not!'" 

Mallette  stopped  and  said :  "My  feelings  were  exactly 
as  I  describe  them.  I  am  not  exaggerating  in  the  least, 
and  you  must  remember  that  my  fortnight  in  the  slums 
had  taught  me  things  which  enabled  me  to  grasp  the 
situation  at  once  completely  and  vividly  in  a  way  I 
could  not  otherwise  have  done. 

"Yes,  that  fortnight  had  made  a  tremendous  impres- 
sion on  me.  It  seems  a  strange  thing,  but  many  men  go 
through  life  from  childhood  to  old  age  without  ever  com- 
ing in  contact  with  or  really  understanding  that  there 
exists,  and  that  a  few  people  are  trying  to  deal  with, 
the  problem  of  poverty,  but  I  had  been  partly  awak- 
ened to  it  at  Oxford  by  my  friend  and  by  a  few  other 
men  there  who  were  mildly  interested  in  socialism, 
and  I  occasionally  saw  some  of  the  labor  periodicals, 
but  what  poverty  was  actually  like,  I  had  not  the  faint- 
est conception  until  I  made  my  visit  to  the  East  End. 


104  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"Well,  I  had  it  out  with  my  father,  and  found  it 
was  impossible  for  us  to  understand  each  other.  There 
was  n't  any  slavery  about  it  as  far  as  he  was  concerned. 
The  works  paid  certain  weekly  sums,  a  pound,  thirty 
shillings,  two  pounds,  whatever  the  sum  might  be,  for 
certain  kinds  of  work.  If  you  could  do  that  kind  of  work 
acceptably,  the  job  was  yours;  if  you  did  n't  want  it, 
that  was  your  affair.  Take  it  or  leave  it.  It  was  simple 
enough,  and  his  attitude  toward  his  hands  would  have 
been  as  impersonal  as  it  was  toward  his  machinery,  or 
the  shiploads  of  oranges  he  got  every  year  from  Spain,  if 
it  had  n't  been  tinged  with  hostility.  A  hostility  which 
was  mutual  and  had  always  existed,-  because  from  time 
to  time,  in  the  hope  of  bettering  their  condition,  the 
workers  would  strike,  arousing  irritation  and  anger  and 
a  loss  of  money  on  both  sides. 

"  My  father  took  the  trouble  to  explain  to  me  —  and  as 
I  look  back  I  am  surprised,  because  his  is  not  a  concilia- 
tory nature  —  the  absurdity  of  my  ideas  and  the  impos- 
sibility of  changing  present  conditions  even  if  we  wanted 
to,  the  whole  interlocked  complicated  machinery  of  cap- 
ital and  labor,  the  balance  of  supply  and  demand,  and 
the  disorganization  arbitrary  fixing  of  wages  would 
work  in  the  market  of  labor  at  large;  but  when  I  sug- 
gested profit-sharing,  he  lost  his  temper  and  called  me 
a  fool  for  thinking  for  a  moment  that  he  would  divide 
the  earnings  of  Mallette  capital  and  Mallette  ability 
with  the  ungrateful  riff-raff  of  the  streets. 

"  But  on  my  part  I  could  n't  evade  the  fact  that  it  was 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  105 

by  the  labor  of  all  those  wretches  that  we  were  living 
as  we  were,  and  that  while,  generation  after  generation, 
we  were  accumulating  money,  generation  by  generation 
our  workers  were  disappearing  into  the  grave  without 
having  known  during  their  whole  lives  what  comfort 
meant,  bodily  ease,  real  happiness,  physical  or  mental 
well-being.  For  I  had  been  to  their  houses.  Between 
the  first  day  when  I  had  seen  our  works,  and  the  end 
of  my  visit  at  the  Settlement,  I  had  visited  exclusively 
the  places  where  they  lived. 

"It  was,  I  must  say,  a  tremendous  disappointment 
for  my  father,"  Mallette  went  on,  "because  he  took  such 
pride  in  Mallette's.  Men  take  pride  in  such  strange, 
childish  things  —  one  that  his  watch  keeps  perfect  time, 
another  in  the  fact  that  he  has  been  operated  on  for  ap- 
pendicitis, another,  that  he  can  run  faster  than  almost 
any  one  else,  another  that  he  goes  without  an  overcoat 
even  in  the  coldest  weather;  and  my  father,  that  we  had, 
by  selling  at  a  large  profit,  great  quantities  of  jam  which 
a  lot  of  poverty-stricken  creatures  made  for  us,  suc- 
ceeded in  amassing  a  huge  fortune.  Each  one  of  these 
prides  seems  to  me  as  futile  as  the  other.  As  the  business 
had  been  handed  down  to  him  so  he  hoped  to  hand  it 
down  to  me;  it  was  a  dream  of  his  that  Mallette's  should 
be  administered  even  into  the  distant  future  by  an  un- 
broken line  of  male  Mallettes. 

"'One  day/  he  said  to  me,  'Felix,  if  you  were  to  in- 
herit Mallette's,  what  would  you  do  with  it  —  close  it 
down?' 


106  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"'Oh,  no,'  I  answered;  'that  would  be  shirking  the 
matter.' 

"'What,  then,  would  you  do?' 

"'Change  it  into  some  kind  of  a  cooperative  con- 
cern.' 

" 'Suppose  you  found  it  did  not  pay;  that  under  your 
plan  you  were  running  it  at  a  loss?' 

"'I  should  make  up  the  deficit.' 

"'Even  if  you  had  to  do  so  out  of  your  private  for- 
tune?' 

" '  Yes;  and  I  may  say  now  that  I  would  see  to  it  that 
that  fortune  was  employed  for  the  benefit  of  those  who 
made  it!'" 

Mallette  stopped  and  sighed. 

"It  was  so  difficult  —  the  situation.  For  centuries  the 
whole  world  had  looked  at  such  mattters  as  my  father 
looked  at  them.  To  him  it  was  right  and  reasonable, 
while  to  me  it  was  all  so  wrong  that  I  must  combat  it  if 
I  wanted  to  keep  my  self-respect.  At  last  he  came  to  me 
with  an  ultimatum.  If  I  did  not  agree  to  promise  not  to 
interfere  in  the  administration  of  the  Mallette  works 
and  the  conservation  of  the  Mallette  fortune,  I  was  to 
be  given  a  pension,  a  generous  one,  and  my  father  was  to 
execute  a  will  whereby  the  Mallette  works  and  the  Mal- 
lette fortune  would  revert  to  my  sister's  child,  a  little 
boy.  This  arrangement  he  said  was  to  remain  in  force 
only  until  such  time  as  I  should  have  definitely  changed 
my  views.  In  other  words,  if  I  wanted  at  any  time  to  go 
back  on  his  terms  I  was  free  to  do  so. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  107 

Mallette  paused  again.  "Well,  that  was  the  end !  We 
had  it  out  together!  It  was  very  painful!  To  my  father 
I  am  not  only  an  erratic  fool,  but  an  ungrateful  one,  too. 
I  have  n't  seen  him  since  nor  have  I  had  a  penny  of  him 
—  I  refused  the  pension  —  although  you  may  imagine 
that  to  make  one's  living  at  first,  with  the  kind  of  train- 
ing I  had  had,  was  not  an  easy  task.  After  a  year  the  war 
came  and  I  went  in  at  once.  I  hear  sometimes  from  my 
sister  —  I  have  no  mother  —  and  my  father  is  still  en- 
gaged in  selling  jam  in  still  greater  quantities  and  in 
increasing  still  more  the  fortune  which  one  day  will  go 
to  my  nephew!" 

Mallette  stopped,  smiled,  and  said,  "That  is  my 
history!" 

"And  did  n't  you  go  back  to  the  East  End?"  asked 
Claire. 

"That  might  seem  the  logical  outcome  of  my  con- 
duct," answered  Mallette,  "but  for  that  kind  of  work 
I  decided  that  one  must  have  gifts  which  I  lacked; 
the  injustice  of  it  made  me  too  angry  and  impatient  of 
the  insensibility  which  makes  it  possible.  I  tried  it  fop 
a  while,  and  then  I  got  out  — " 

They  got  up,  and  going  out  into  the  Avenue  walked 
slowly  toward  the  Square. 

"That  was  a  fine  thing  —  acting  as  you  did,  Mr. 
Mallette,"  Claire  said. 

"No,  what  I  did  was  n't  fine,"  Mallette  answered, 
"but  it  was  a  fine  thing  that  my  eyes  were  opened  in 


108  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

time,  and  what  I  did  may  help.  All  these  poor  devils 
are  working  at  starvation  wages,  as  they  have  always 
done,  but  perhaps  the  ethical  force  of  my  act  may  help 
to  bring  their  emancipation  a  little  nearer." 

Mallette  walked  through  Ninth  Street  with  Claire 
and  Jamie  and  parted  from  them  before  the  high  steps 
of  their  house.  They  let  themselves  in  noiselessly  and 
climbed  the  stairs  together.  Outside  her  door,  Claire 
bade  Jamie  good-night,  and  going  into  her  room  stood 
by  the  window  looking  across  at  the  tenements.  It  was 
still  early.  In  one  room  an  old,  old  man  was  breaking 
a  box  into  kindlings  with  a  hatchet.  In  another,  where 
a  woman  cooked,  there  was  a  bed;  some  one  lay  in  it. 
She  could  see  a  dark,  emaciated  face  and  the  outlines 
of  a  body  lying  motionless.  In  a  lower  room  a  workman 
was  washing  his  feet  in  a  basin,  feet  like  clods,  dirty 
and  thick;  and  in  another,  where  a  man  sat  with  his 
hat  on,  smoking  his  pipe,  in  his  shirtsleeves,  while  the 
room  seemed  full  of  children,  a  pale  woman  lay  in  bed 
suckling  a  baby. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Claire,  when  estimating  the  advantage  to  Jamie  of 
joining  the  family  at  breakfast  the  next  morning,  had 
forgotten  it  would  be  Sunday  breakfast,  about  the  very 
worst  meal  which  could  have  been  chosen.  Edward  and 
George,  deprived  of  the  solace  of  business,  were  distrait 
and  preoccupied;  Caroline  was  rather  irritable  at  the 
prospect  of  having  them  on  her  hands  for  most  of  the 
day,  and  Kate  usually  came  down  with  a  slight  Sun- 
day morning  headache.  Every  Saturday  she  purchased 
a  pound  box  of  chocolates  at  Maillard's.  Before  retir- 
ing, which  was  always  early  on  that  night,  she  would 
produce  the  box  and  pass  it.  Half  a  dozen  pieces  would, 
perhaps,  be  taken.  She  would  then  go  upstairs  without 
passing  it  again,  and  in  the  morning  Annie,  the  chamber 
maid,  would  invariably  find  the  box  empty.  Before 
going  to  bed  she  had  eaten  the  entire  pound.  Conse- 
quently the  headache. 

The  fact  that  the  coming  day  was  Sunday,  however, 
had  one  advantage.  Claire  would  have  an  opportunity 
to  talk  with  Uncle  Edward  about  Jamie. 

Edward  and  Caroline  invariably  arrived  at  the 
breakfast  table  at  eight  o'clock  impelled  by  their  sense 
of  punctuality.  Claire  and  George  usually  came  next, 
not  from  a  sense  of  the  inviolability  of  the  breakfast 
hour,  but  because  they  were  normal,  healthy  young 


110  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

animals  who  had  had  their  sleep  out  and  had  got  up 
directly  it  was  finished.  This  was  in  case  George  had 
not  been  out  the  night  before  and  disordered  his  di- 
gestion by  a  late  supper,  a  thing  he  was  likely  to  avoid. 
Jamie,  luxurious  and  slightly  neurotic,  would  come 
next,  and  Aunt  Kate,  an  incorrigible  sluggard,  last  of 
all.  But  on  this  occasion  Claire  had  waited  for  Jamie, 
who  was  longer  than  usual,  and  when  they  finally 
reached  the  dining-room  even  Kate  was  there  drinking 
a  cup  of  very  strong  coffee. 

A  general  good-morning  was  said,  somewhat  vague 
where  Jamie  was  concerned,  and  a  rather  forbidding 
silence  followed,  to  be  broken  presently  by  Caroline, 
who  asked,  addressing  Edward : 

"Was  anything  ever  done  about  Mr.  Weston?" 

Opposite  the  Nicholsons'  house  on  Ninth  Street  a 
row  of  small  houses  faced  them.  They  were  of  red  brick 
with  high  steps  of  brown  stone.  The  high  steps  of  these 
houses,  the  iron  railings,  the  front  doors,  the  areas,  the 
windows,  and  the  houses  themselves  were  all  exactly 
alike.  They  belonged  to  Caroline,  and  Mr.  Weston,  a 
tenant  of  one  of  them,  had  always  shown  himself 
strangely  reluctant  to  pay  his  rent. 

"He  broke  his  promise  again  this  week,"  Edward 
replied.  "I  expect  we'll  have  to  serve  a  dispossess  no- 
tice on  him." 

"Why  not  sue  him?"  Caroline  demanded.  "I  say 
sue  him  and  have  it  over  with!" 

"He's  a  musician  or  something  like  that,"  answered 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  111 

Edward,  almost  angrily;  "they  never  have  any  money. 
I'm  surprised  that  Mrs.  Praed  should  have  recom- 
mended him  so  well." 

"Such  a  handsome  fellow,  too,"  Kate  remarked. 

"Maggie,"  Caroline  commanded,  "bring  me  that 
small  package.   The  one  on  the  mantelpiece." 

Maggie  gave  it  to  her,  and  unfolding  the  paper  so 
that  it  still  protected  her  fingers  from  the  object  it 
contained,  Caroline  exposed  Jamie's  cigar. 

"Is  that  yours?"  she  demanded  of  George. 

George,  replying  easily  that  it  was  not,  she  turned  to 
Jamie. 

"Yes,  it's  mine,"  Jamie  answered,  casting  Claire  a 
glance  which  seemed  to  say,  "Well,  here  goes!" 

"Phew!  Take  it  away,  Maggie!  Well,  it  lay  there  all 
night  before  last  smelling  up  the  whole  place.  It 's  a 
pity  you  can't  take  the  trouble  to  do  what  the  family 
wants  you  to  once  in  a  while.  I  don't  know  whether 
I  '11  ever  be  able  to  get  that  smell  out  of  the  curtains ! " 

Edward  supplemented  this  by  saying: 

"You  know  your  aunt  doesn't  like  smoking  in  the 
parlor;  what  do  you  do  it  for?" 

"Oh,  Uncle  Edward!"  Claire  interposed.  "Other 
men  do  it.  George  and  Mr.  Orville  were  smoking  night 
before  last  just  as  well  as  Jamie." 

"If  George  smokes  in  the  parlor,  he  puts  the  cigar 
in  the  ash-can  afterwards  and  takes  the  trouble  to  air 
the  room."   This  from  Aunt  Caroline. 

"I've  done  that,  too,"  answered  Jamie.   "I  always 


112  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

do  it,  only  night  before  last  I  forgot.  I  've  known  George 
to  forget  it  too ! " 

"It  was  very  funny  that  you  should  forget!  What 
were  you  doing  to  make  you  forget?"  Caroline  seemed 
to  be  insinuating  that  Jamie  even  then  was  somewhat 
fuddled. 

"He  forgot  because  he  was  angry  with  George  for 
being  rude  to  Mr.  Mallette.  George  had  met  him  at 
Helena's  and  pretended  he  had  never  seen  him  before," 
Claire  explained. 

"At  Helena's!"  answered  Caroline  with  the  expres- 
sion a  boxer  might  wear  on  receiving  an  unexpected 
back-hander. 

"That  doesn't  mean  anything,"  George  interposed. 
"A  friend  of  his  happened  to  take  him  there.  There's 
not  much  danger  of  his  going  again.  You  know  Aunt 
Adelaide  does  n't  cotton  to  people  like  that!" 

"I  should  say  not!"  answered  Caroline. 

"Do  you  know  who  Mr.  Mallette  is?"  asked  Claire 
challengingly  of  George  and  the  table  at  large.  "He's 
the  only  son  of  Mallette,  the  great  English  jam  manu- 
facturer!" 

This  statement  was  followed  by  a  dazed  silence  in 
which  expressions  of  doubt,  regret  at  the  possibility 
of  their  having  said  something  which  Mallette  might 
treasure  against  them,  and  an  evidently  changed  point 
of  view  toward  him  were  mingled. 

But  George,  recovering  himself,  retorted : 

"That's  a  likely  story!" 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  113 

"If  you  doubt  it,  it's  easy  enough  to  find  out  whether 
it's  so  or  not!"  answered  Claire,  "Mallette  has  an 
agent  here;  they  could  probably  tell  you." 

"What's  he  doing  on  the  stage?" 

"That's  his  affair,  I  suppose." 

In  spite  of  George's  sincere  or  assumed  incredulity, 
Claire's  statement  seemed  heavy  with  the  convincing 
weight  of  truth. 

"I  must  say,"  Caroline  observed,  "it  was  kind  of 
him  to  —  "  She  had  started  to  say  that  it  was  kind  of 
Mallette  to  fetch  Jamie  home,  but,  remembering  in 
time  that  Jamie  was  present,  she  checked  herself.  "By 
the  way,  Edward,  our  dividends  were  a  week  late  this 
quarter.   What's  the  matter?" 

Edward,  who  was  eating  bacon  and  eggs,  stopped. 
His  head  was  bent  and  he  did  not  raise  it,  and  for  a 
moment  his  hands,  one  holding  a  knife,  the  other  a 
fork,  rested  inertly  beside  his  plate. 

"What  —  what  was  that?  Oh,  yes  —  The  clerk  who 
gets  out  the  checks  was  sick  in  bed.  I  did  n't  hear  you 
at  first!"  It  seemed  to  be  an  effort  for  him  to  an- 
swer. 

Caroline  looked  at  him.  His  skin,  always  pale  under 
his  white  mustaches,  looked,  she  thought,  whiter  than 
usual,  but  as  he  went  on  at  once  with  his  breakfast  she 
thought  no  more  about  it. 

Claire's  revelation  of  Mallette's  identity  proved  to 
be  a  happy  incident,  for  as  getting  drunk  in  the  com- 
pany of  Mallette's  only  son  was  obviously  quite  different 


114  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

from  getting  drunk  with  a  common  actor,  Jamie's  of- 
fense was  somewhat  mitigated;  but  only  for  the  present, 
as  Claire  well  knew;  therefore,  immediately  after  break- 
fast she  started  to  follow  Edward  to  his  basement  room, 
but  George  was  already  slipping  down  before  her. 

She  waited  ten  minutes,  and  then,  following,  knocked 
on  the  sanctum  door,  opening  it  in  response  to  her 
uncle's  invitation  to  come  in.  George  was  seated,  and 
as  he  showed  no  intention  of  leaving,  in  spite  of  her 
"May  I  speak  to  you,  Uncle  Edward?"  she  added, 
after  a  moment  —  "about  Jamie?" 

During  the  five  years  that  Claire,  George,  and  Jamie, 
had  lived  at  Ninth  Street,  where  they  had  gone  after 
the  death  of  their  father,  their  mother  having  died  two 
years  earlier,  her  knowledge  of  her  uncle  had  not  in- 
creased nor  had  their  relationship  grown  a  degree  closer. 
He  had  always  been  to  her  an  insoluble  enigma. 
He  came  and  went  with  the  regularity  of  clockwork. 
During  these  five  years  his  voice  and  manner  never 
varied.  Always  self-contained,  moving  and  speaking 
slowly,  his  expression  and  visible  traits  made  on  Claire 
only  a  negative  impression.  She  had  tried  more  than 
once  to  get  hold  of  him;  find  out  what  he  cared  for,  if 
he  cared  for  anything  at  all;  whether  he  had  decided 
preferences  for  anything  or  anybody;  whether  even  busi- 
ness were  a  passion  with  him;  and  she  had  always  felt 
compelled  to  give  it  up  as  a  hopeless  task.  Sometimes 
it  seemed  to  her  that  there  must  be  another,  a  real 
entity,  hidden  within  his  large  white  carcass,  which 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  115 

emerged  in  other  surroundings  —  at  the  office  of  the 
factory;  if  not  there,  somewhere  else  —  never  at  Ninth 
Street;  and  if  that  she  could  see  him  at  such  times  she 
would  see  the  real  Edward  Nicholson.  As  if  somewhere 
he  really  lived,  but  that  at  Ninth  Street  he  kept  up 
only  the  semblance  of  living,  and  that  behind  his  heavy 
face  with  its  drooping  mustaches  he  was  occupied  with 
constant  secret  thoughts  of  that  other,  that  real  life  of 
which  no  one  knew. 

Edward  was  seated  before  an  office  desk  which  stood 
in  a  corner  of  the  room  by  one  of  the  windows,  in  a 
desk  chair  which  turned  on  a  screw  and  tilted  back 
when  you  wanted  it  to.  George  was  sprawling  in  an 
armchair  at  one  end  of  the  desk. 

"Come  in  and  shut  the  door,"  Edward  answered; 
"we've  just  been  talking  about  him!" 

Claire  drew  up  a  chair,  and  both  Edward  and  George 
looked  at  her  interrogatively  and  yet  with  an  expression 
which  seemed  to  indicate  that  they  were  prepared  to 
disagree  with  her  beforehand. 

"Is  there  any  special  reason  why  Jamie  should  keep 
on  at  the  office,  uncle?"  Claire  began. 

"He  can't  live  in  idleness,"  Edward  answered;  "why 
should  n't  he  keep  on  there?" 

"He  does  n't  like  it." 

"He  doesn't  like  it  because  he's  lazy,  but  it's  the 
best  thing  in  the  world  for  him,  if  he  would  stick  to  it." 

"He  is  n't  fitted  for  it,  Uncle  Edward." 

"He is  as  fitted  for  that  as  for  anything.  He's  the 


116  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

kind  of  boy  who  is  bound  to  go  to  the  bad,  I  'm  afraid ! 
George  has  just  been  telling  me.  I  knew  he  hated  to 
work,  but  I  never  dreamed  that  he  was  dissipated.  You 
may  as  well  tell  her,  George." 

And  George  proceeded  to. 

"I've  known  it  for  some  time  —  friends  have  told 
me  who've  seen  him  around  in  different  places.  I've 
spoken  to  him  about  it  a  dozen  times,  but  it  has  n't 
done  any  good.  You  and  Mallette  thought  I  waked 
everybody  up  on  purpose  the  other  night,  and  it's  true. 
I  had  kept  it  from  them  as  long  as  I  felt  that  I  should, 
and  I  thought  it  would  be  a  good  chance  to  prove  what 
I  wanted  to  say  about  him.  People  don't  usually  face 
things  like  this  soon  enough,  and  before  you  know  it 
Jamie  will  be  a  first-class  souse!" 

"But  what  can  we  do?"  asked  Claire. 

"Make  him  brace  up  and  behave  himself!"  George 
answered. 

"How?" 

"By  telling  him  if  he  does  n't  behave  we'll  have  to 
take  some  drastic  action." 

"Haven't  you  told  him  that  already?"  Edward 
asked. 

"Well,  yes,  I  have,"  replied  George. 

"But  if  you  've  already  threatened  him  and  it  has  n't 
done  any  good  —  "  said  Claire. 

"Well,  let  Uncle  Edward  try  his  hand  at  it!" 

"I  don't  believe  threats  ever  have  the  slightest  effect 
on  people,"  Claire  answered.. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  117 

"Then  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  George 
demanded. 

Claire  took  the  plunge 

"Uncle  Edward,"  she  began,  "Jamie  has  acquired  his 
bad  habits  because  he  is  unhappy  and  restless.  He  is  n't 
fitted  for  a  business  life;  he  says  he's  tried  and  tried  to 
understand  it  and  to  interest  himself  in  it,  but  that  it's 
absolutely  hopeless;  he  do£s  n't  and  can't  like  it;  but 
there's  one  thing  he  does  like  and  that's  music.  He 
loves  it.  He's  been  going  to  the  office  for  three  years 
now  and  has  never  learned  anything,  and  yet  in  music, 
although  he  has  never  had  any  real  instruction  at  all, 
see  how  nicely  he  plays,  and  some  of  his  compositions 
are  really  lovely.  That's  his  bent;  he  loves  it;  why  not 
let  him  make  it  his  profession — let  him  go  to  Paris  — " 

At  mention  of  Paris  Edward  made  a  movement  as 
if  to  interrupt  her,  but  Claire  went  on: 

"Wait  a  moment,  please!  In  Paris  — " 

"Send  a  boy  with  his  habits  to  a  place  like  Paris!" 
Edward  insisted  on  saying. 

"Paris,"  Claire  began  again,  "is  n't  as  bad  as  you 
think  it  is." 

"What  do  you  know  about  it?"  retorted  George. 

"Everybody  knows  what  Paris  is,"  Edward  answered. 

"But  there  are  temptations  everywhere,  Uncle  Ed- 
ward; and  I'm  sure  that  the  way  to  avoid  them  is  by 
having  something  to  do  which  you  love.  And  another 
thing  —  they  don't  drink  there  as  we  do  here,  strong 
drinks  — " 


118  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"They  say  that  every  other  Frenchman  is  an  ab- 
sinthe fiend!"  George  interrupted. 

"That's  absurd,  George,"  answered  Claire  almost 
angrily.  She  felt  that  she  was  making  not  the  slightest 
headway.  "Why  not  let  him  try  it,  Uncle  Edward? 
Let  him  try  it  for  a  year.  He  loves  it  so,  and  he  has  real 
talent!  I'm  sure  if  you  let  him  he  would  be  so  grateful 
that  you  would  never  have  to  worry  in  the  least  about 
him.  He  can  pay  his  own  way,  of  course,  so  that  there 
would  be  no  extra  expense  about  it." 

"He  can  pay  his  own  way  if  I  approve,"  Edward 
replied  in  his  deliberate  way.  "You  understand  that 
I  am  the  trustee  of  all  your  property  which  I  can  do  with 
as  I  see  fit,  even  to  withholding  the  income  from  it." 

"I  don't  mean  to  say  that  he  would  do  anything  you 
disapproved  of.  I  am  asking  you  to  let  him  try." 

"What  do  you  think,  George?"  said  Edward,  turning 
to  him. 

"I  don't  care,"  replied  George.  "If  it  was  only  some- 
thing else,  something  useful,  it  would  n't  be  so  bad,  but 
to  want  to  be  a  musician  —  it's  just  like  Jamie  —  the 
damned  little  fool!  Besides,  he'd  probably  get  tired  of 
it  inside  six  months!" 

"He  would  n't,  George!"  cried  Claire.  "I  know  he 
would  n't!" 

Edward  swung  around  in  his  chair  and  fixed  Claire 
with  large,  expressionless  gray  eyes. 

"It  won't  do;  he  could  never  make  a  cent  at  it!" 

"Perhaps  not  —  that  does  n't  matter." 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  119 

"Does  n't  matter?"  asked  Edward  in  surprise. 

"He  has  enough  to  live  on,"  said  Claire. 

"He  has  a  pittance,  two  thousand  a  year.  Is  he  going 
through  life  on  that  —  did  you  ever  hear  of  a  musician 
or  an  actor  or  a  writer  or  a  painter  who  ever  made  any 
money?" 

"Some  of  them  must  make  a  living,"  answered  Claire. 

"I  tell  you  it's  absurd.  Money  is  the  standard  of 
everything.  It  sets  the  value  of  everything,  and  if  a  man 
can't  make  money  it  shows  he 's  no  good.  No  artist  ever 
makes  money  because  what  he  produces  is  n't  worth 
anything.  All  these  critics  and  painters  and  sp outers 
and  writers,  what  good  are  they?  Can  you  tell  me  of 
one  who  has  ever  made  a  fortune?" 

"They  do,  uncle,"  Claire  argued,  although  she  knew 
that  they  were  getting  away  from  the  point.  "Some  of 
the  opera  singers  make  thousands  of  dollars  during  a 
season." 

"Lord!  Jamie  an  opera  singer!"  exclaimed  George  in 
disgust. 

"I  didn't  say  he  wanted  to  be — "  began  Claire 
vehemently;  but  Edward  interrupted  her. 

"There  do  seem  to  be  a  few  who  make  money,  but 
they  're  foreigners  who  have  been  brought  up  to  it.  No- 
body has  any  opinion  of  them.  No,  Claire,  it  isn't 
practical.  If  Jamie  will  attend  to  business  and  keep 
straight  I'll  do  this  next  year:  I'll  send  him  on  the 
road—" 

"Well,  if  you  do  that"  George  interrupted,  "good- 


120  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

night!  You  know  the  reputation  commercial  travelers 
have  for  boozing!" 

"Oh,  uncle!"  cried  Claire.  "Jamie  of  all  people  as  a 
commercial  traveler ! " 

"Well,  then,  we'll  find  something  else  for  him  to  do. 
And,  Claire,  try  to  avoid  impracticable  ideas;  your 
mother  was  a  little  inclined  that  way,  and  Jamie  is,  too, 
I'm  afraid,  and  there's  nothing  in  it.  There's  one  way 
to  live  in  this  world  and  that  is  to  work  hard,  take  care  of 
your  property,  increase  it  if  you  possibly  can,  and  let 
all  idealists  and  spouters  and  impractical  people  alone. 
They're  no  use  to  themselves  or  anybody  else!  This 
idea  of  sending  Jamie  to  France  is  out  of  the  question. 
Do  you  suppose  I  would  consent  to  his  being  exposed 
to  the  temptations  of  Paris  without  any  one  to  look 
after  him?  I  would  n't  be  willing  to  have  such  a  step 
on  my  conscience." 

Claire  stood  up. 

"Then  there  is  no  chance  for  him  to  go?" 

"The  whole  idea  is  impracticable,"  Uncle  Edward 
answered  with  an  air  of  finality. 

Claire  went  upstairs  and  knocked  at  Caroline's  door. 
Jamie  was  waiting  results  in  his  room,  but  she  was  not 
ready  yet  to  report  to  him.  Uncle  Edward's  refusal 
seemed  so  unfair  and  unnecessary !  Why  was  the  idea 
impracticable?  It  had  not  been  impracticable  for  all 
those  thousands  of  students  who,  coming  from  the  ends 
of  the  earth,  were  already  in  Paris!  Why  for  Jamie? 

And  as  soon  as  she  had  closed  Caroline's  door,  she 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  121 

asked  her,  almost  challengingly :  "Can  you  see  any  rea- 
son why  Jamie  should  n't  go  to  Paris  to  study  music  if 
he  wants  to?" 

Caroline,  wearing  her  spectacles,  was  sitting  by  a 
window  reading  the  Sunday  paper. 

"Well!"  exclaimed  Caroline,  looking  up.  "What 
next!  I  see  every  reason  why  he  should  n't!  He  won't 
work;  that's  what's  the  trouble  with  Jamie." 

"But  why  should  n't  he  go,  Aunt  Caroline?" 

"Look  at  the  temptations!" 

"Look  at  them  in  New  York." 

"He  has  his  home  to  go  to  here!  Why,  I  was  just 
reading  an  article  in  the  supplement  of  the  paper  about 
the  gay  life  of  Paris.  Now  that  the  war  is  over  they  're 
beginning  it  again.  Kate  just  took  it,  and  to  think  of 
Jamie's  coming  home  dead  drunk!  Edward  would  have 
rather  seen  him  in  his  grave,  I  'm  sure.  You  know  how 
we've  always  felt  about  intemperance  and  the  stand 
we ' ve  always  taken  in  the  church  about  it.  You  did  n't 
really  mean  it,  did  you,  about  going  to  Paris?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Claire.  "I've  just  been  asking 
Uncle  Edward  to  let  him  go." 

"Well,  I  know  what  he  would  say.  Nonsense!  Non- 
sense! Tell  Kate  to  show  you  that  article!  And,  by  the 
way"  —  Caroline  lowered  her  voice.  "Do  you  really 
think  that  Mr.  Mallette  is  the  only  son  of  the  rich 
English  family  of  that  name?" 

"I'm  sure  of  it,"  answered  Claire. 

"What  makes  you  sure  of  it?" 


122  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"He  told  me  so  himself !" 

Caroline's  sound  sense  would  ordinarily  have  ex- 
cluded such  testimony,  but  something  —  perhaps  the 
weight  of  Mallette's  own  personality  —  inclined  her  to 
accept  it. 

"I  think  I'll  drop  him  a  line,  thanking  him  for  bring- 
ing Jamie  home,  and  ask  him  to  call  —  You  like  him, 
don't  you?" 

"He  seems  very  nice,"  Claire  answered  non-commit- 
tally. 

"I  suppose  Jamie  knows  where  he  lives?" 

"  Yes,  he  does." 

"Well,  get  his  address  and  I'll  write  him.  And  stop 
this  nonsense  about  Jamie's  going  abroad.  I  'm  surprised 
at  you;  besides,  you  know  how  strict  your  uncle  is." 

Claire,  realizing  the  uselessness  of  even  another  word 
with  Caroline,  knocked  at  Aunt  Kate's  door,  and  went 
in. 

Aunt  Kate  was  sprawling  on  a  lounge  in  a  corset  and 
chemise,  absorbed  in  the  supplement  in  question.  She 
seemed  to  be  reading  with  avidity,  and  Claire  caught 
glimpses  of  a  large  illustration  showing  bearded  gentle- 
men in  evening  clothes  and  top  hats  seated  at  tables,  on 
which  stood  champagne  bottles  and  glasses,  with  ladies 
in  decollete,  in  a  place  hung  with  Chinese  lanterns, 
watching  a  furious  frolic  of  dancing  going  on  in  the  cen- 
ter of  the  floor  where  numerous  masculine  and  feminine 
legs  were  waving  in  the  air.  Kate  folded  the  supplement 
and  said:  "Jamie  seems  all  right  again." 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  123 

"Oh,  Aunt  Kate,  I  don't  know  what  to  do  about 
him ! "  answered  Claire,  forced  into  a  spontaneous  out- 
burst of  disappointment.  "Uncle  Edward  and  Aunt 
Caroline  can't  seem  to  understand'  that  Jamie  is  n't 
exactly  like  the  rest  of  us.  They  say  he  does  n't  work 
hard  enough  —  and  what  they  mean  by  work  is  any- 
thing except  what  you  want  to  do  if  that  happens  to 
be  out  of  the  ordinary.  They  may  be  right  as  far  as 
the  average  young  man  is  concerned,  who  has  n't  any 
especial  preferences,  but  they  can't  see  that  Jamie  is 
fitted  for  and  loves  just  one  thing,  and  he  wants  to  and 
will  work  at  it,  and  that  he  does  n't  want  to  and  can't 
work  at  keeping  books  or  being  a  salesman  or  running 
errands  or  the  things  he  does  at  the  office.  It  seems  so 
hopeless.  Jamie  wants  to  go  to  Paris  and  study  music, 
and  they  think  the  idea  is  so  stupid  —  although  thou- 
sands of  other  people  do  it — that  they  won't  even  listen 
to  it." 

"To  Paris ! "  Kate  cried  in  surprise,  but  with  no  note 
of  disapproval.  "  They  '11  never  consent,  Claire.  For  one 
reason  because  they  would  think  it  stupid,  and  for  the 
other,  Edward  would  refuse  in  order  to  punish  him  for 
getting  drunk.  You  know  how  strongly  he  feels  about 
it." 

"Do  you  see  anything  so  dreadful  about  the  idea?" 
Claire  asked. 

Kate  shot  a  glance  at  her  out  of  her  dark  eyes  and 
answered : 

"They'll  never  consent,  Claire." 


124  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"I  shall  try  again,  though!"  Claire  responded.  And 
going  out  she  encountered  Maggie  who  had  a  note  for 
her.  Claire  took  it  and  recognized  Helena's  writing. 
The  note,  Maggie  said,  had  just  arrived  and  required 
no  answer. 

Kate  sat  on  her  sofa  for  a  moment  after  Claire  had 
gone,  absorbed  in  thought,  picked  up  the  supplement 
once  more,  gazed  at  it  abstractedly,  and  then,  getting 
up,  crossed  the  room,  turned  the  key,  and  unlocking  a 
door  in  the  lower  part  of  her  writing-desk  exposed  a  row 
of  French  novels  bound  in  yellow  paper.  Selecting  one  of 
these,  she  picked  up  a  French  dictionary,  and  returning 
to  her  sofa  began  with  the  aid  of  her  dictionary  its 
laborious .  translation. 

Jamie  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  his  bed  smoking  a 
cigarette. 

"Well?"  he  asked,  as  Claire  entered. 

"Not  much  luck,  Jamie,"  she  answered  as  cheerfully 
as  she  was  able  and  she  sat  down  beside  him. 

"That 'sail  right,"  answered  Jamie,  although  he  could 
not  prevent  an  expression  of  disappointment  from  cross- 
ing his  features.   "I  knew  you  would  n't  have." 

"But  we  must  n't  give  up  hope.  This  is  the  very  first 
time  we've  tried.  I'm  going  to  ask  Aunt  Adelaide  to 
help." 

"Aunt  Adelaide!  You  know  what  Uncle  Edward 
thinks  of  her!" 

"But  if  he  finds  out  that  it  does  n't  seem  unpractical 
to  other  people,  he  may  change  his  mind." 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  125 

"And  to-morrow  that  damned  treadmill  again!" 
Jamie  got  up  as  if  in  desperation  and  seized  his  bedroom 
clock.  "For  two  cents  I  'd  shy  this  through  the  window ! " 
He  looked  fiercely  at  Claire,  then  restored  the  clock  to  its 
place,  and  smiling  his  sweet  smile  as  if  to  reassure  her, 
sat  down  beside  her  once  more. 

Claire  threw  her  arms  around  him. 

"Oh,  Jamie,  you're  so  good!  Try  to  hold  out;  some- 
how we'll  manage  it." 

"If  I  only  had  control  of  my  money!"  Jamie  ex- 
claimed.   "Did  Uncle  Edward  say  anything  about  it?" 

"Yes,  he  said  that  he  need  n't  pay  the  income  if  he 
did  n't  want  to.   Did  you  know?" 

"Yes,  George  told  me!  What  I'ought  to  do  is  to  cut 
loose  like  Mallette !  What  do  you  think  of  him,  Claire?  " 

"You  mean  his  story  of  the  works  and  his  quarrel 
with  his  father?" 

"Yes." 

'  *  I  don't  know  yet .  It  seemed  awfully — awfully  revo- 
lutionary —  and  wild  —  I  don't  know.  You  have  to  get 
used  to  ideas  like  that,  I  suppose." 

"It  was  splendid,  I  think !  Think  of  being  able  to  look 
at  a  thing  absolutely  from  one  angle  and  to  shut  out 
everything  else!  That's  what  Mallette  did.  He  did  n't 
allow  any  side  issues  to  interfere,  no  ifs  and  buts!  He 
tackled  the  thing  and  settled  it  once  and  for  all.  I  admire 
power  of  that  kind  more  than  any  other  because  I  have 
n't  got  it  myself,  Claire.  If  I  had  I  'd  say  good-bye  to  the 
whole  outfit,  and  by  hook  or  by  crook  do  what  I  want  to 


126  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

do.  Do  you  remember  Wagner  and  how  he  accepted 
money  and  favors  from  all  sorts  of  people  without  a 
second  thought,  as  a  matter  of  course,  in  order  to  do 
what  he  wanted  to  do?  That's  what  I  ought  to  do,  but 
I'm  not  strong  enough.   I'm  a  poor  sort,  Claire  — " 

"You're  not,  Jamie.  I  won't  have  you  say  so." 
Claire  embraced  him  once  more.  "You're  good  and 
sweet,  and  just  because  you  are  I  'm  going  to  find  a  way 
to  send  you  abroad !  Let 's  see  what  Helena  has  to  say ! " 
And  opening  her  note  she  glanced  through  it  and 
handed  it  to  him.  Jamie  read : 

Dear  Claire,  —  Won't  you  and  Jamie  dine  with  me  and 
Mr.  Orville  at  the  Ritz  to-night  at  eight  ?  Mr.  Orville  says  he  has 
apologies  to  make  to  both  of  you.  He  owes  another  one  to  Mr. 
Mallette,  and  I  enclose  a  note  from  him  to  Mr.  Mallette  invit- 
ing him,  too.  If  you  can  come,  please  ask  Jamie  to  deliver  it 
to  him,  and  telephone  the-  result.  Do  come.  Mr.  Orville  is  really 
awfully  distressed  about  what  happened  the  other  night. 

Lovingly 

Helena 

P.S.  Please  try  to  induce  Mr.  Mallette  to  come.  Mr.  Or- 
ville feels  so  badly  about  it.  Mamma  will  chaperon  us,  which 
will  make  six. 

"Do  you  want  to  go?"  Claire  asked  when  Jamie  had 

finished. 

"With  that  bounder!"  answered  Jamie.   "No,  thank 

you!" 

"You  never  met  him  until  the  other  night,  Jamie!" 
"Once  was  enough!"  answered  Jamie  with  decision. 
"What  unnecessary  dislikes  you  do  take  to  people!" 
"Did  you  like  him?"  Jamie  demanded. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  127 

"I  did  n't  like  the  way  he  treated  Mr.  Mallette," 
Claire  answered,  "but  that  may  have  been  partly 
George's  fault.   Except  for  that  I  did  like  him." 

"Do  you  want  to  go?"  Jamie  asked. 

"Yes,  let's  go.  You  'd  rather  do  that  than  have  sup- 
per here,  would  n't  you?" 

"Lord!  I  should  say  so!  All  right.  But  about  Mal- 
lette?" 

"Has  he  a  telephone?" 

"Yes." 
.    "  Then  telephone  him.  Tell  him  we  are  going,  and  say 
I  hope  he  will  come  too.  You  've  just  got  time  before 
church ! " 

At  this  reminder  Jamie's  face  fell. 

"Church!"  he  exclaimed  so  lugubriously  that  Claire 
could  not  help  laughing. 

"You  must,  Jamie.  You've  stayed  away  too  often 
lately.  You  know  Uncle  Edward  does  n't  like  it  —  and 
now  especially ! "  And  she  looked  at  him  with  an  expres- 
sion of  soft  meaning. 

Jamie  responded  to  it  at  once. 

"All  right" — and  he  started  for  the  door — "I'll  call 
up  Mallette."  * 

"See  that  the  door  is  shut  tight,"  Claire  warned  him, 
referring  to  that  of  the  telephone  closet,  "and  we'll  just 
say  that  we're  dining  with  Helena;  we  need  n't  mention 
the  Ritz.  Uncle  Edward  would  n't  approve." 

Jamie  descended  the  two  flights  to  the  main  floor, 
Claire  watching  him  over  the  banisters,  and  disappeared 


128  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

into  the  closet  under  the  stairs  which  did  duty  both  as  a 
telephone  booth  and  as  a  repository  for  Maggie's  tools 
of  trade.  She  saw  that  he  took  the  precaution  of  tightly 
closing  the  door.  Presently  he  emerged  and  came  up 
again. 

As  he  approached,  Claire  called,  "Is  it  all  right ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Jamie  in  a  slightly  guarded  voice. 
"He '11  be  there ! "  And  coming  into  the  room  he  added, 
"But,  I  say,  we'll  have  to  dress!" 

Claire's  face  fell.  She  knew  that  the  Ritz  in  evening 
dress  of  a  Sunday  night  could  only  be  encompassed  by 
stealth,  a  thing  she  shrank  from;  but  seeing  Jamie's 
answering  look  of  disappointment  she  said : 

"All  right,  we'll  manage  it!  Bring  your  overcoat  up- 
stairs and  put  it  on  up  here.  I  '11  wear  a  hat  and  a  jacket. 
We  '11  tell  Maggie  as  we  slip  out." 

At  this  moment  they  became  aware  of  the  voices  of 
Kate  and  Caroline  below,  and  immediately  they  heard 
the  solid  tread  of  Edward  descending  the  stairs.  It  was 
time  to  start  for  church.  Claire  hastily  put  on  her  hat, 
and  meeting  Jamie  at  the  door  they  went  out  together. 
Edward,  Caroline,  and  Kate,  the  former  in  a  frock  coat 
and  silk  hat,  worn  only  on  Sundays,  were  disappearing 
around  the  corner  into  Sixth  Avenue.  They  followed, 
keeping  a  certain  distance  behind  their  elders,  and  in  a 
moment  George  caught  up  with  them  and  passed  them 
hurriedly  with  a  gesture  of  greeting  and  farewell.  He 
acted  as  usher  at  their  church,  but  secretly  disliked  the 
job  and  was  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  get  rid  of  it. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  129 

Claire  and  Jamie  arrived  as  a  last  perfunctory  note  or 
two  sounded  from  the  bell,  and  passing  George,  who  was 
standing  in  the  middle  aisle  near  the  vestibule  wearing 
a  suitable  expression  of  solemn  deference,  which  caused 
Jamie  even  in  his  present  state  of  depression  to  greet  him 
with  a  derisive  leer,  they  paused  at  their  pew  while 
Edward,  who  always  sat  next  the  aisle,  stepped  out  to  let 
them  enter.  2  The  usual  service  followed  during  which 
Jamie's  restlessness,  as  it  always  did,  attracted  occa- 
sional glances  from  Caroline. 

At  a  certain  interval  in  the  service  Edward  left  the 
pew  and  proceeded  down  the  aisle  as  did  two  other  gen- 
tlemen in  frock  coats  and  kid  shoes,  and  being  handed 
silver  plates  lined  with  velvet  proceeded  to  take  up  a 
collection  while  the  organist  played  a  dreamy  accompa- 
niment of  suitable  solemnity.  Following  this  came  the 
sermon,  so  long  that  it  reduced  Jamie  to  despair,  al- 
though he  had  heard  not  a  word  of  it,  and  following  this 
the  entire  family  returned  to  Ninth  Street  just  in  time 
for  dinner,  which  on  Sunday  was  served  in  the  middle  of 
the  day. 

An  afternoon  of  intense  boredom  followed.  Claire 
wondered  why.  The  same  sun  shone,  the  same  blue  sky 
stretched  itself  above,  the  same  buildings  surrounded 
her,  but  to-morrow  an  electric  transformation  would 
take  place  and  life  would  tingle  once  more  with  incident 
and  opportunity. 

At  seven  she  and  Jamie,  issuing  from  their  rooms,  de- 
scended the  stairs  cautiously,  their  evening  clothes  cov- 


130  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

ered  with  the  customary  day  garments  of  the  street. 
They  sought  Maggie  stealthily,  informed  her  that  they 
were  going  out  to  supper,  and,  shutting  the  front  door 
with  absolute  noiselessness,  started  for  the  Ritz. 


CHAPTER  Vn 

Claire  Nicholson  had  a  sensation  that  night,  which 
grew  as  the  evening  wore  on,  that  these  two  men,  Mal- 
lette  and  Orville,  who  had  come  simultaneously  into  her 
life,  were  destined  to  remain  in  it,  to  exert  powerful  and 
diverse  influences  on  her,  to  call  into  play  her  own  abili- 
ties, and  once  more  that  premonition  renewed  itself  that 
life,  strange,  beautiful,  grotesque,  was  about  to  open  for 
her. 

Adelaide,  Helena,  and  Orville  were  waiting  in  the 
palm  room  when  she  and  Jamie  arrived,  and  almost  in- 
stantly Mallette  appeared.  Although  Orville  had  inti- 
mated through  Helena  that  he  had  three  apologies  to 
make,  it  struck  Claire,  immediately  after  reading  Hel- 
ena's note,  that  she  could  n't  well  see  how  he  was  to 
make  them  without  creating  an  awkward  situation,  but 
Orville  managed  to  convey  them  simply  and  easily  by  a 
frank  friendliness  of  manner,  so  unaffected  and  natural 
that  Claire,  instantly  ready  to  wield  the  cudgels  for 
Mallette,  was  disarmed  at  once.  Mallette  himself  re- 
sponded perfectly,  and  within  the  orange  glow,  all  their 
own,  of  the  candles  resting  on  their  table  a  little  hour  of 
sensuous  happiness  followed  for  Claire. 

But,  happy  though  she  was,  Claire,  prepossessed  by 
that  new,  strange,  and  fascinating  sensation,  watched 
and  compared  Mallette  and  Orville. 


132  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

Orville  looked  more  prepossessing  in  his  evening 
clothes,  she  thought,  than  he  had  when  he  had  appeared 
at  Ninth  Street  as  George's  guest.  His  long,  strong  face 
showed  a  clearer,  more  ruddy  complexion,  and  his  rather 
coarse  hair,  already  tinged  with  gray,  was  brushed  as 
carefully  back  from  his  temples  as  was  Jamie's  own.  He 
looked  fresh  and  fit,  and  his  strong  wrists  and  the  con- 
tour of  his  shirt-front  over  his  chest  gave  indications  of 
a  powerful  frame. 

Indeed,  Orville's  personality  radiated  power :  his  way 
of  sitting,  his  voice,  his  manner  of  speaking,  his  confident 
and  assured  laugh,  and  his  alert  and  direct  gaze;  the 
power  of  impetus  and  of  strong  blows,  of  action,  and 
of  the  unremitting  application  of  physical  and  mental 
energy. 

Orville's  foree  of  character  was  a  thing  of  which  Or- 
ville proclaimed  himself  fully  conscious,  but  Mallette 
—  and  one  could  not  help  feeling  that  he  too  had  his 
share  —  seemed  unaware  of  his. 

Mallette  had  one  of  those  English  faces  which,  when 
compared  with  the  later  prevalent  American  types,  give 
the  impression  of  a  more  finished  and  a  finer  race.  Orville 
seemed  stronger ;  Mallette  more  active.  Orville  was  mag- 
netic with  mental  power;  Mallette  attracted  by  a  more 
subtle  charm.  Orville  put  the  world  to  the  test  of  his 
ambitions;  Mallette  viewed  life  from  a  more  impersonal 
stand.  Orville  was  like  the  strong  glaive  of  Richard; 
Mallette  the  bright  steel  of  Saladin.  But  it  was  to  Mal- 
lette Claire  felt  that  she  inclined.  She  found  that  she 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  133 

liked  Orville  and  his  compelling  and  not  unpleasant  ego, 
but  sitting  beside  Mallette  she  was  conscious  that  there 
was  between  her  nature  and  his  a  harmony  similar  to 
that  which  bound  herself  and  Jamie  so  strongly  to- 
gether.  Similar  and  yet  different. 

"  Oh,  the  dickens!"  Jamie  exclaimed  suddenly,  "I  for- 
got to  tell  Maggie  we  would  n't  be  home  in  time  for 
prayer-meeting ! "  And  he  chirruped  like  a  bird  so  cheer- 
fully that  Orville  laughed  heartily.  Claire,  still  strong 
with  religious  inclinations,  gave  him  a  protesting  glance. 
Orville  suddenly  grew  sober. 

"When  I  was  a  boy,  everybody  went  to  church,"  he 
hastened  to  say,  "  and  the  Brooklyn  ferry-boats  used  to 
be  crowded  with  people  going  over  to  hear  Beecher! 
New  York  was  a  big  provincial  city  then." 

"It's  provincial  now,  it  seems  to  me,"  Claire  an- 
swered. 

"But  very  cosmopolitan,  don't  you  think?"  Orville 
asked. 

"But  it  does  n't  seem  cosmopolitan,  because  nobody 
here  mixes  together!  That  seems  provincial.  There  are 
all  kinds  of  nationalities  here,  but  we  never  see  them! 
Some  of  them  must  be  worth  while,  too ! " 

"Do  you  suppose  Helena  would  think  of  asking  any- 
body to  call  who  did  n't  wear  the  right  kind  of  collars? 
Horrible,  horrible!"  Jamie  cried. 

Helena  squeezed  Jamie's  hand;  but  Adelaide,  slightly 
annoyed,  answered,  "You  love  to  tease  just  as  much  as 
ever,  you  naughty  boy!" 


134  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

Adelaide  was  continually  looking  about  her,  some- 
what ill  at  ease.  Helena  had  pressed  her  into  service, 
but  she  was  not  happy.  If  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Arthur  Slade, 
for  instance,  and  others  of  that  set,  had  been  Orville's 
guests,  the  table  occupying  the  mathematical  center  of 
the  room  would  have  been  none  too  good,  and  she  would 
have  expanded  harmoniously  in  the  refulgence  of  great- 
ness; but  as  it  was  she  had  been  relieved  to  find  that 
their  seats  were  in  an  inconspicuous  corner,  and  she  had 
unostentatiously  followed  the  others,  managing  not  to 
see  in  passing  a  pair  of  undesirables  who  were  manifestly 
waiting  for  a  bow,  and  even  forbearing  to  attract  the 
attention  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Arthur  Slade  themselves  — 
who  were  present,  as  luck  would  have  it  —  on  account 
of  the  really  questionable  appearance  of  their  party. 
Claire,  handsome  enough  in  her  way,  but  without  the 
least  vestige  of  social  position  and  quite  unknown  to 
anybody,  Jamie  ditto,  and  a  strange  Englishman.  Or- 
ville  was  the  only  one  who  was  at  all  worth  while,  and 
his  desirability  was  still  only  potential,  being  so  barely 
on  the  ragged  edge  that  Adelaide  was  still  not  quite  sure 
as  to  what  course  she  intended  to  pursue  with  him. 
Really  Helena's  craze  for  having  people  spend  money  on 
her  did  sometimes  lead  her  to  do  foolish  things.  On  one 
never-to-be-forgotten  occasion  she  had  actually  taken 
tea  with  a  fabulously  rich  Jew.  She  had  told  her  mother 
afterwards  that  the  thought  of  his  money  had  made  it 
absolutely  impossible  for  her  to  refuse. 

Aunt  Adelaide,  not  to  waste  the  evening  entirely, 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  135 

tried  without  much  success  to  catechize  Mallette,  to 
Helena's  manifest  amusement.  Indeed,  Helena  was  in 
a  mood  she  displayed  only  rarely,  when  Adelaide  knew 
that  she  could  do  nothing  with  her  —  an  occasional 
tempest  of  reckless  gayety;  and  when  Helena  after 
dinner  proposed  a  Broadway  cabaret,  Adelaide,  partly 
because  she  knew  it  would  be  hopeless  to  protest  and 
partly  from  a  sneaking  desire  to  visit  one  of  those  places, 
consented,  provided  Helena  promised  not  to  stay  more 
than  half  an  hour.  Helena  gave  her  promise  without 
the  slightest  intention  of  keeping  it,  when  Claire  up- 
set everything  by  saying  she  thought  it  time  that  she 
and  Jamie  were  going  home. 

"Oh,  no!"  cried  Orville  resolutely. 

"Yes,  really,"  said  Claire. 

The  idea  of  going  to  a  Broadway  cabaret  at  any  other 
time  would  have  attracted  her,  but  on  a  Sunday  night 
she  felt  it  would  be  impossible  even  at  the  cost  of  appar- 
ent rudeness  to  the  others. 

"But  it's  so  early!"  Helena  cried,  and  her  mocking 
glance  seemed  to  make  plain  the  secret  of  Claire's  re- 
luctance —  to  Orville,  at  any  rate,  for  he  answered 
quickly : 

"Let  me  suggest  something  else.  Won't  you  come  to 
the  Plaza  and  see  my  new  rooms?  The  decorators  are 
just  out,  and  I  moved  in  two  days  ago.  We  can  have 
coffee  there,  and  Nicholson  might  give  us  a  little  music." 

Helena  hesitated  only  for  a  moment,  and  then,  reflect- 
ing that  Orville's  apartment  would  give  evidence  of  a 


136  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

recent  lavish  outlay  of  money  and  so  gratify  her  con- 
suming passion,  agreed  pleasantly,  while  Claire  thought, 
"How  kind  of  him  to  act  so  quickly  and  so  thought- 
fully!" 

Orville  penciled  rapidly  a  note  on  his  card  to  be  tele- 
phoned to  the  Plaza,  and  going  out  they  got  into  his 
limousine,  Adelaide  experiencing  a  slight  attack  of  dis- 
comfort in  the  dressing-room  on  seeing  Claire  don  a 
street  hat  and  cover  her  evening  dress  with  an  ordinary 
jacket. 

This  limousine  was  typical  in  a  way  of  Orville. 

It  was  a  type  of  limousine  more  expensive  than  any 
other  type  in  the  world.  A  footman  whose  livery,  match- 
ing that  of  Orville's  chauffeur,  proclaimed  that  he,  too, 
belonged  to  Orville,  opened  the  door  for  them.  Adelaide, 
Helena,  Claire,  Mallette,  Jamie,  and,  last  of  all,  Orville, 
got  in.  They  found  themselves  in  a  small  room,  yet  so 
large  they  were  not  in  the  least  crowded.  The  limousine 
was  the  last  word  in  elegance,  convenience,  and  comfort; 
and  yet,  unless  the  most  expensive  thing  of  any  kind  is 
inherently  vulgar,  it  was  not  ostentatious.  Claire  had 
not  dreamed  that  there  could  be  cushions  so  insolently 
soft,  as  if  they  were  soft  merely  because  they  chose  to 
be,  knowing  well  how  costly  they  were.  There  were  little 
receptacles  for  negligible  things,  mirrors,  lights,  and  ele- 
gant utensils,  velvet  carpets,  superb  little  curtains,  and 
two  armchairs,  one  for  Jamie  and  one  for  Mallette.  As 
Adelaide,  Claire,  and  Helena  had  taken  and  were  com- 
fortably filling  the  back  seat,  Orville  was  left  apparently 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  137 

without  one.  It  seemed  for  a  moment  as  if  this  paragon 
of  motors  was  to  reveal  itself  unable  to  meet  even  a 
usual  emergency;  but  no,  for  on  Orville's  pressing  a 
button  an  additional  seat  detached  itself  from  the  up- 
holstery and  obligingly  and  noiselessly  arranged  itself 
for  his  comfort.  He  sat  down  on  it,  the  door  closed 
with  a  sound  from  the  latch,  a  kind  of  rich  click,  which 
seemed  to  say,  "  You'll  never  see  a  lock  like  me  again," 
the  footman  took  his  place  beside  the  chauffeur,  and 
the  car  began  to  glide  away  with  a  perfection  of  motion 
absolutely  foreign  to  Claire's  experience.  There  was 
something  so  extraordinary  and  overpowering  about 
the  luxury  of  this  machine  that  for  the  moment  all, 
even  Adelaide,  were  abashed  by  it,  but  only  for  a 
moment,  for  under  its  tonic  influence  Helena's  spirits 
rose  still  more  sharply,  and  even  Claire,  nestling  into 
the  cushions  in  her  corner,  sighed  happily  to  herself, 
"How  good  it  must  be  after  all,  to  be  so  very  rich!" 

The  car  turned  majestically  up  the  Avenue,  and  as 
if  moving  on  air  bore  them  swiftly  and  soundlessly  to 
the  Plaza,  where  before  its  momentum  had  .completely 
ceased  its  door  swung  open  under  the  hand  of  the 
chauffeur's  companion.  Orville  helped  the  ladies  to 
descend,  and  preceding  them  into  the  corridor  led  the 
way  to  a  waiting  elevator.  The  door  of  the  elevator 
clanged  shut,  they  shot  upward,  clanged  open,  they 
got  out,  and  facing  them  Orville's  door  was  being  held 
for  them  by  still  another  of  Orville's  functionaries. 
Helena's  delight  was  increasing  each  moment,  and  all 


138  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

entered  with  a  hush  of  anticipation.  The  functionary, 
with  an  agreeable  smile  of  welcome,  helped  to  remove 
their  wraps  and  opening  still  another  door  ushered  them 
into  a  large  room.  In  a  huge  fireplace,  with  a  flue  at 
least  fourteen  stories  high,  blazed  a  fire,  made  of  freshly 
kindled  cedar  logs,  and  a  group  of  easy-chairs  were  dis- 
posed around  a  table  bearing  an  array  of  liquors,  of 
very  good  fragrant  fresh  coffee,  and  of  cigars  and  cigar- 
ettes, so  expensive  as  to  be  quite  unknown  to  the  ordi- 
nary consumer. 

Helena  insisted  on  being  shown  Orville's  rooms  im- 
mediately and  a  hurried  tour  was  made  of  them.  She 
had  become  quiet  suddenly,  and  her  usual  cloying, 
artificially  sweet  manner  had  returned.  The  apartment 
proved  to  be  what  every  one  instinctively  knew  it  would 
be,  perfect  in  every  detail,  as  perfect  as  the  machinery 
of  Orville's  superlative  limousine;  but  Claire,  remem- 
bering Mallette's  description  of  Aunt  Adelaide's,  could 
not  help  thinking  that  it  would  apply  more  appropri- 
ately to  Orville's  abode  than  to  hers.  No  convenience 
which  human  ingenuity  could  think  of  to  induce  people 
to  spend  money  was  absent,  down  to  a  dressing-table 
in  one  of  his  bedrooms  containing  an  assortment  of 
cosmetics  and  ladies'  toilet  articles,  a  library  full  of 
books,  a  large  table  covered  with  magazines,  and  a 
profuse  array  of  flowers,  all,  however,  arranged  with 
cold  and  rigid  precision.  It  seemed  as  if  they  might 
have  a  moment  before  registered  below  and  been  shown 
to  one  of  the  hotel's  finest  suites  only  just  vacated  by 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  139 

some  one  else,  so  impersonal  was  its  finery.  Claire  re- 
membered that  Orville  had  said  he  had  only  been  living 
there  for  two  days,  but  wondered  whether  after  two 
months  it  would  have  changed  so  very  much.  Still,  it 
might  very  well  be  that  this  was  a  characteristic  com- 
mon to  the  dwellings  of  all  bachelors. 

After  coffee,  Helena  did  a  little  adroit  maneuvering 
which  resulted  in  Adelaide,  with  singular  docility,  find- 
ing herself  seated  at  the  library  table  looking  at  the 
colored  plates  of  a  book  on  Oriental  rugs,  a  subject  in 
which  she  was  not  in  the  least  interested;  in  Jamie  — 
with  a  cigarette  between  his  lips  —  swaying  once  more 
to  the  sound  of  his  own  waltz  issuing  from  Orville's 
grand  piano;  in  Helena  herself  occupying  a  sofa  with 
Mallette  in  a  distant  corner  of  Orville's  parlor,  and  in 
the  said  Orville  being  left  to  the  attractions  of  Claire,  a 
thing  he  particularly  wanted.  Claire  saw  through  all 
this  quite  well,  but  did  not  object  in  the  least.  In  fact, 
she  was  pleased  rather  than  otherwise,  not  for  being 
paired  with  Orville,  but  because  it  would  give  her  the 
opportunity  to  observe  Helena's  behavior  with  Mallette, 
and  perhaps  discover  the  explanation  of  her  embarrass- 
ment on  the  afternoon  she  had  lunched  with  her,  but 
she  had  about  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  simply 
one  of  those  infatuations  Helena  was  always  indulging 
herself  in,  and  her  display  of  confusion  a  pose  by  which 
to  give  the  affair  an  added  dash  of  piquancy.  She 
doubted  if  Mallette  was  taking  any  part  in  it. 

As  soon  as  Helena,  having  completed  the  disposition 


140  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

of  her  mother  and  Jamie,  had,  in  the  company  of 
Mallette,  left  them  to  themselves,  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
fireplace,  Orville  said: 

"And  now  I  want  to  set  myself  right  about  the  other 
night.  I  really  had  n't  remembered  meeting  Mallette 
before.  If  I  had,  I  hope  you  don't  think  that  I  would  be 
so  rude  as  to  ignore  the  fact."  And  then,  as  if  this  sen- 
tence might  condemn  George,  he  added:  "With  George 
it  was  different.  Mallette  had  been  brought  into  your 
house  without  George  knowing  anything  about  him  and 
without  his  having  probably  much  confidence  in  your 
younger  brother's  judgment.  I  'm  not  trying  to  excuse 
him;  I  am  simply  offering  an  explanation." 

"I  think  that  is  probably  the  true  one,"  Claire 
answered. 

"And  you  will  forgive  me?" 

It  struck  Claire  that  it  was  Mallette  who  was  most 
concerned,  and  she  said  so. 

"I'll  make  it  all  right  with  him,"  answered  Orville; 
"but  what  I  am  most  anxious  about  is  that  I  should 
not  have  done  anything  which  you  might  disapprove 
of.  I  really  did  not  remember  him.  You  will  believe 
me,  I  hope." 

"Of  course  I  will  believe  you,"  Claire  answered, 
thinking  that  Orville  was  perhaps  making  too  much  of 
her  approval  or  disapproval,  "Why  not?" 

"For  a  special  reason,"  Orville  answered;  "some- 
time I  will  tell  you."  He  hesitated,  and  then  went  on: 
"No,  I  will  tell  you  now.  I  am  a  good  judge  of  charac- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  141 

ter,  if  I  have  an  opportunity  to  study  a  person's  face 
even  for  a  moment,  if  he  is  unconscious  that  I  am  doing 
so.  This  appraisal  of  mine  I  find  to  be  almost  always  cor- 
rect, and  impresses  me  so  convincingly  that  sometimes 
I  have  seen  people,  total  strangers,  whom  it  has  made 
me  want  to  know.  Do  you  know  how  I  happened  to  dine 
at  your  house  the  other  night?  " 

Claire,  with  a  sensation  of  embarrassment,  answered, 
"No." 

"Because  the  moment  I  saw  you,  when  you  passed 
us  going  uptown  on  the  top  of  the  stage,  I  determined 
to  know  you.  Imagine  how  pleased  I  was  when  I  found 
that  you  were  George's  sister.   It  made  it  so  easy." 

Claire  felt  herself  flush  at  first,  and  hoped  that  it 
would  be  hidden  from  Orville  by  the  glow  of  the  flames, 
but  in  a  moment  a  realizing  sense  of  the  complete  im- 
personality of  Orville's  manner  reassured  her. 

"Good  friends,  disinterested  friends  are  rare.  When 
I  find  such  friends  I  will  return  their  friendship  in  good 
measure.  You  will  probably  think  what  I  am  saying  is 
peculiar,  but  you  will  admit  that  it  is  honest.  I  am 
going  to  ask  you  if  I  may  call,  and  I  am  making  it  plain 
why  I  want  to;  I  want  your  friendship.  May  I  come  to 
see  you?" 

Claire  answered,  "Yes,"  hardly  knowing  what  else 
to  say  even  if  she  should  wish  to. 

"I  have  other  friends,"  continued  Orville,  "men  and 
women.  I  believe  in  friendship;  as  a  power  it  is  more 
valuable  than  almost  anything  else." 


142  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"I  should  never  imagine  that  you  would  feel  the  need 
of  it,"  Claire  answered. 

"I  don't  in  the  ordinary  way,  but  to  be  strong  and 
successful  you  must  have  strong  friendships.  Or  per- 
haps I  might  say  that  to  people  with  strong  natures 
strong  friendships  are  a  necessity." 

"Then  you  think  that  they  are  not  necessary  to  most 
people?" 

"Most  people  are  not  capable  of  them." 

"George?" 

"To  be  frank,  no,  although  George  is  an  able  fel- 
low." 

"Aunt  Adelaide?"  wondering  why  she  should  be 
impelled  to  discuss  her  with  a  stranger. 

"No." 

"Helena?" 

"Perhaps." 

"Mr.  Mallette?" 

"Mallette!"  —  with  a  manner  which  indicated  that 
Mallette  had  probably  never  occupied  so  much  as 
twenty  seconds  of  his  thoughts  —  "Let  me  see,"  and 
he  looked  over  at  him. 

Helena  and  Mallette  were  seated  partially  facing 
them  on  a  sofa  which  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  room. 
Mallette  was  looking  out  of  the  window  toward  Fifth 
Avenue  and  speaking  evidently  of  something  they  had 
been  looking  at,  a  building,  a  group  of  persons,  or  the 
general  view,  and  as  she  spoke  Claire  saw  that  Helena's 
glance,  instead  of  following  his,  was  resting  on  his  face. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  143 

Orville  waited  for  Mallette  to  turn,  and  presently  he 
did  so,  to  Helena,  who  instantly  averted  her  gaze. 

"He  would  be  capable  of  friendship,  I  should  say," 
Orville  remarked  after  a  moment.  "  Good-looking  fel- 
low, but  you  can't  tell  about  actors  and  people  like 
that.  Too  light-headed!  Peculiar  eyes,  though!  Do 
you  know  anything  about  him?" 

"Not  much;  he  comes  of  a  good  English  family." 
She  wished  to  talk  of  Mallette,  but  for  some  reason 
forbore. 

"They  all  do,  of  course,"  responded  Orville  with  a 
careless  laugh,  and  instantly  dismissing  Mallette  he 
went  on : "  So  if  I  can  come  to  see  you  I  shall  be  thankful. 
May  I?" 

Claire  almost  wished  not  to  say  "Yes,"  but  in  spite 
of  herself  she  did  so  once  more.  Orville  seemed  so  much 
older,  so  different,  so  engaged  in  things  of  which  she 
knew  nothing;  why  should  he  want  to  call  on  her?  And 
yet  his  impersonal,  almost  brotherly,  manner  impelled 
her  to  accept  what  he  had  been  saying  at  its  face 
value. 

Adelaide,  noticing  Claire  and  Orville  through  the 
library  doorway,  and  deducing  that  Helena  and  Mallette 
must  be  sitting  together  somewhere,  shut  her  book  and 
came  into  the  drawing-room.  Helena,  understanding 
perfectly  from  this  that  Adelaide  had  definitely  re- 
belled against  staying  in  the  library  any  longer,  and 
that  she  did  n't  intend  to  allow  her  to  flirt  with  Mallette 
if  she  could  prevent  it,  got  up  presently  and,  followed 


144  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

by  Mallette,  wearing  a  slight  air  of  relief,  came  over 
to  the  fireplace,  but  during  the  short  interval  elapsing 
between  Adelaide's  appearance  and  her  doing  so,  a 
conversation  had  taken  place  between  Adelaide,  Claire, 
and  Orville. 

"What  a  charming  young  man  Mr.  Mallette  is," 
Adelaide  had  said  to  Claire.  "Helena  said  you  had 
met  him  before.   Do  you  know  anything  about  him?" 

"He's  an  actor,  of  course  you  know,"  Orville  an- 
swered, Claire  thought,  rather  mischievously. 

"An  actor!"  Adelaide  cried  sharply.  Her  face  in- 
stantly took  on  a  hard  look,  and  she  glanced  at  Mallette 
vindictively  as  if  saying  to  herself,  "  Then  what  earthly 
right  has  he  to  be  here?"  She  half  rose  as  if  she  had 
decided  to  go  over  to  them,  when  Claire  added  hastily: 
\  "Yes,  but  he  is  the  only  son  of  the  head  of  Mallette's, 
the  great  English  jam  manufacturers." 

Adelaide  sat  down  again,  and  immediately  Claire 
saw  a  dreamy  look  qome  into  her  eyes,  a  look  dreamily 
speculative,  instantly  quenched  on  noticing  that  she 
was  under  observation. 

"A  son  of  Mallette's,  eh?"  Orville  remarked  con- 
templatively, and  Adelaide  asked  in  very  much  the 
tone  of  voice  George  had  used : 

"Then  what  on  earth  is  he  doing  on  the  stage?" 

"Perhaps  he  likes  it,"  answered  Claire,  "I  see  in  the 
papers  that  Sir  Joseph  Beecham,  a  son  of  the  great 
English  pill  manufacturer,  is  conducting  an  opera  sea- 
son in  London." 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  145 

"But  why  hasn't  he  told  anybody?"  persisted 
Adelaide. 

"I  don't  know,"  Claire  replied. 

"I  must  say,"  remarked  Adelaide,  very  much  as 
Caroline  had,  "I  do  like  that  in  him!  The  English 
are  n't  given  to  blowing  their  own  trumpets  the  way  we 
Americans  are  —  "  And  at  that  moment  Helena  and 
Mallette  joined  them. 

Adelaide  suddenly  seemed  to  have  grown  younger, 
and  prettier.  Her  manner  toward  Mallette  which  had 
previously  been  compounded  of  an  almost  hostile  curi- 
osity and  indifference,  was  now  so  flatteringly  friendly 
that  it  seemed  as  if  she  herself  might  be  willing  to 
flirt  with  him  if  he  wanted  her  to.  Claire  thought  that 
he  shot  at  herself  a  glance  of  half -humorous  inquiry,  as 
if  asking  her  for  an  explanation,  and  Helena  was  plainly 
puzzled  by  her  mother's  sudden  change  of  front. 

On  saying  good-night  to  Orville  they  found  that  his 
limousine  was  waiting  to  transport  them  home,  and  as 
Adelaide  and  Helena  lived  north  of  the  Plaza  and  Claire, 
Mallette,  and  Jamie  south  of  it,  it  was  decided  to  drop 
the  fprmer  first.  Adelaide  asked  Mallette  to  call  with 
real  cordiality,  and  Helena,  though  still  puzzled,  step- 
ping out  and  revealing  a  length  of  leg  encased  in  a 
stocking  of  thin  silk,  seemed  to  say  on  general  principles 
to  the  world  at  large,  as  she  smiled  her  smile  of  artificial 
sweetness,  "Behold,  I  am  smooth  and  beautiful.  Would 
you  not  like  me?  If  you  are  rich  enough,  take  me!" 
The  door  clicked  to  richly  once  more,  and  Orville's 


146  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

car,  containing  Claire,  Mallette,  and  Jamie,  began  a 
stately  progress  down  the  Avenue. 

For  a  time  they  sat  in  silence,  but  presently  Jamie 
exclaimed,  "I  think  we  need  some  exercise." 

The  same  wish,  it  seemed,  had  occupied  the  others, 
and  after  they  had  stopped  the  car  by  blowing  through 
a  tube  into  the  chauffeur's  ear,  they  descended  at  Forty- 
Second  Street.  The  peculiar  ghastliness  of  a  Sunday 
evening  in  New  York  lay  around  them,  something 
hushed  and  deadly,  as  if  in  all  the  buildings  behind  the 
curtained  windows,  hidden  by  the  walls,  many  people, 
deprived  of  the  occupation  of  either  making  money  or 
spending  it,  lay  gasping  in  the  clutches  of  a  horrible 
ennui,  waiting  for  sleep  to  bridge  the  few  remaining 
hours  which  separated  them  from  their  cherished  pur- 
suits. 

Claire  had  a  confession  to  make  to  Mallette,  so  she 
began: 

"Did  you  want  to  keep  who  you  really  are  —  I  mean 
who  your  family  is  —  secret,  Mr.  Mallette?" 

"Not  especially  —  one  way  or  the  other.  Why,  may 
I  ask?" 

"Because  I  told  Aunt  Adelaide  and  —  " 

"It  doesn't  matter,"  Mallette  answered;  and  al- 
though he  betrayed  nothing  Claire  felt  that  Adelaide's 
change  of  attitude  was  made  clear  to  him. 

"And  I  told  Aunt  Caroline,  too.  I  think  she  has 
written  you  and  asked  you  to  call  —  I  mean,"  she  cor- 
rected herself,  as  if  she  had  associated  Caroline's  writ- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  147 

ing  to  him  and  her  knowledge  of  his  family  connections 
too  closely,  "I  mean  that  they  were  n't  really  annoyed 
about" — Jamie  was  on  the  other  side  and  couldn't 
hear  her  —  "about  the  other  night." 

To  her  surprise  Mallette  did  not  answer  at  once;  he 
seemed  to  be  weighing  something,  coming  to  some  de- 
cision, and  Claire,  without  knowing  what  it  portended, 
its  purpose  or  its  content,  waited  for  him  to  speak,  and 
as  she  waited  he  turned  and  looked  at  her  suddenly,  and 
said: 

"Then  I  may  come?  You  would  like  me  to?"  And 
as  he  spoke  she  saw  a  light  of  eagerness,  almost  of  sup- 
pliance,  in  his  curious,  smiling  eyes.  Once  more  Claire 
said  "yes,"  and  as  with  Orville  her  answer  seemed 
fraught  with  an  unusual  significance. 

"It's  rather  lonely  sometimes  in  a  strange  country  — 
one  longs  for  friends,"  he  added  after  a  moment. 

"Yes,  do  come,"  Claire  repeated.  "Did  I  tell  you  that 
Friday  is  my  day?  Come  in  next  Friday  if  you  can." 
And  speaking  again  so  that  Jamie  could  not  hear,  "I 
would  like  to  talk  with  you  about  —  "  and  she  made  it 
plain  by  an  added  significance  of  expression  that  she 
wished  to  speak  about  Jamie,  thinking,  "How  strange 
that  both  he  and  Orville  should  have  used  that 
word!" 

It  was  quite  late  when  she  and  Jamie  let  themselves 
in.  The  fact  that  the  outer  door  was  closed  indicating 
that  the  rest  of  the  family  were  at  home,  they  climbed 
the  stairs  warily,  and  bade  each  other  good-night;  but 


148  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

presently  Jamie  appeared  in  Claire's  room,  saying 
guardedly : 

"Orville  isn't  so  bad.  I  thought  he  was  a  first-class 
rotter  at  first.  He 's  got  a  splendid  piano.  Well,  here 's 
for  another  week  of  grind,"  and  he  yawned  ruefully. 

Claire  put  her  arms  around  him  and  hugged  him 
tenderly.  "Hold  out  for  a  little  while,  Jamie.  We'll 
manage  somehow!" 

"All  right,"  answered  Jamie,  "good-night."  He 
started  for  the  door,  stopped,  and  then  returned. 
"But  it  was  funny,  Orville's  dining  here  with  George 
the  way  he  did.  What  on  earth  could  Orville  have 
wanted  of  George?  And  what  on  earth  can  he  want  of 
such  an  enormous  suite  of  rooms  —  one  man !  Lonely, 
I  should  say,  wandering  around  in  them  all  by  himself." 

"Have  you  ever  heard  of  him  before,  Jamie?" 

"Oh,  yes;  I've  heard  of  him  often,  and  seen  his  name 
in  the  papers,  but  I  did  n't  think  when  he  came  here 
with  George  that  it  could  be  the  Orville.  He's  got  so 
much  money  they  say  that  he  does  n't  know  what  to 
do  with  it,  but  he  won't  stop  making  it  on  that  account. 
Those  people  in  Wall  Street  are  a  funny  lot.  Their  life 
seems  to  me  like  sitting  down  at  a  roulette  table  as  soon 
as  you  are  old  enough  to  begin  and  staying  there  —  ex- 
cept for  meals  —  until  you  die  and  are  carried  off.  I 
can't  understand  it.  Of  course  it  would  be  nice  enough 
to  be  able  to  have  a  car  like  Orville's  and  to  have  a 
suite  of  rooms  big  enough  to  get  lost  in  if  you  wanted 
to,  but  if  that's  all  you  get  out  of  it!  Well,  I  suppose 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  149 

he'll  marry  and  take  his  wife  there  —  that 's  what  I'd 
do.  I  could  n't  stand  a  place  like  that  all  by  myself  — 
well,  good-night,  Claire." 

Claire  undressed  slowly.  Jamie's  words  had  set  her 
imagination  at  work,  and  she  saw  Orville  wandering  in 
his  spacious,  brightly  lighted  rooms  or  sitting  by  his 
fire,  even  that  made  more  costly  with  its  cedar  logs, 
surrounded  by  all  the  cunning  snares  of  luxury,  alone 
in  solitary  splendor.  She  turned  out  her  light  and  raised 
the  shades.  The  tenements  were  dark  except  for  the 
windows  of  one  lighted  room.  Claire  stood  in  her  night- 
dress, watching.  The  woman  she  had  seen  in  bed  suck- 
ling her  baby  was  now  walking  the  floor  with  it,  in  a 
kind  of  squalid  undress.  Her  place  in  bed  was  empty, 
but  on  the  inner  side  of  it  two  children  lay  asleep.  These 
from  their  long  hair  she  could  tell  were  girls,  but  cross- 
wise on  a  mattress  on  the  floor  lay  two  boys  and  the 
man  she  had  noticed  the  night  before  smoking  at  the 
window;  she  could  see  his  swarthy  face,  his  tousled 
hair,  and  the  dark  tints  of  his  unshaven  jaw.  They  had 
not  undressed  —  except  that  they  had  removed  their 
shoes,  revealing  their  torn  and  ragged  stockings,  and  lay 
in  attitudes  of  discomfort,  while  the  woman,  the  light 
striking  the  sallow  surfaces  of  her  skin  as  she  ap- 
proached it  in  her  walk,  paced  to  and  fro  with  an  air  of 
one  struggling  against  weariness  and  an  overpowering 
desire  for  sleep. 


CHAPTER  VIH 

Edward,  George,  and  Jamie  had  all  left  for  business 
when  Claire  reached  the  dining-room  on  the  following 
morning.  Edward  and  George  always  took  the  Elevated 
at  Eighth  Street,  which  gave  them  an  opportunity  to 
glance  through  their  papers.  Jamie,  if  he  got  up  early 
enough,  walked  across  Washington  Square  and  down 
West  Broadway,  the  office  being  in  the  wholesale 
dry-goods  district  not  much  more  than  a  mile  to  the 
south. 

Kate  had  not  yet  come  down,  and  Caroline  imme- 
diately began: 

"Do  people  have  dances  on  Sunday  nights  now?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of  —  why?"  Claire  answered. 

"I  don't  know  why  people  should  wear  evening 
clothes  on  Sunday  unless  they  were  going  to  a  dance. 
You  are  n't  getting  tired  of  our  old-fashioned  ways,  too, 
are  you,  Claire?"  And  Caroline  fixed  her  with  her 
sharp,  handsome  eyes.  Claire  knew  at  once  that  her 
aunt  had  inspected  her  wardrobe  after  they  had  gone 
out  —  Jamie's,  too,  perhaps  —  to  discover  what  she 
had  worn.  This  expedient  seemed  so  simple  that  Claire 
wondered  that  she  had  n't  thought  of  its  possible  use; 
not  that  it  mattered  very  much  now. 

"Mr.  Orville,  the  man  who  came  to  dinner  with 
George  the  other  night,  was  taking  Aunt  Adelaide  and 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  151 

Helena  to  dinner  at  the  Ritz,  and  he  asked  Jamie  and 
me  to  go,  too,  and  Mr.  Mallette.  We  did  n't  want  any- 
body to  know  because  we  were  afraid  you  might  not 
like  it,"  Claire  replied. 

"We  shouldn't  have;  don't  let  your  uncle  know. 
Why  did  n't  George  go?  He  sat  around  here  the  whole 
evening." 

"He  was  n't  asked." 

"Well,  I  never!"  Caroline  exclaimed.  "And  Mr. 
Orville  his  friend!  Better  not  tell  him.  I  don't  know 
what  we're  coming  to,"  she  went  on,  seemingly  from 
some  hidden  reason  for  perturbation.  "Sometimes  I 
think  you  can't  trust  any  one  these  days,  even  those 
who  are  supposed  to  carry  the  righteous  fear  of  God  in 
their  hearts.  As  for  the  others !  well,  they  seem  to  think 
that  anything  is  right  as  long  as  they  want  to  do  it!" 
She  looked  at  Claire,  and  for  the  first  time  Claire  no- 
ticed those  slight  indications  of  disintegration  which 
begin  to  appear  with  advancing  years.  Her  aunt,  always 
so  large,  firm,  and  handsome,  all  at  once  seemed  to 
show  a  wrinkle  here  and  there,  her  flesh  suddenly  seemed 
softer,  the  texture  of  her  skin  had  deteriorated;  Claire 
saw  her  hand  tremble,  and  looking  at  her  eyes  it  seemed 
to  her  that  they  were  suffused  with  tears.  These  phe- 
nomena in  connection  with  her  aunt  were  so  absolutely 
novel  that  Claire  stared  at  her  in  surprise,  asking, 

"Is  anything  the  matter,  Aunt  Caroline?" 

"The  matter!  Of  course  there  are  things  the  matter! 
Is  n't  Jamie  worry  enough,  and  now  your  running  about 


152  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

the  way  you  do?  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  why  you  can't 
understand  the  responsibility  you  are  and  try  to  help 
us!"  And  she  got  up,  pushed  her  chair  under  the  table, 
and  disappeared  into  the  back  hall.  Claire  saw  her 
presently  ascending  the  stairs,  an  unprecedented  thing, 
as  at  this  hour  she  always  went  down  to  interview  the 
cook,  and  decided  that  she  had  gone  up  to  bathe  her 
eyes;  but  she  somehow  doubted  Caroline's  statement 
that  she  and  Jamie  were  the  cause  of  her  agitation. 

Maggie  came  in  bearing  an  egg-cup  on  a  plate.  This 
egg-cup,  which  was  of  plain  white  china  and  which 
was  shaped  something  like  an  hour-glass  except  that 
one  end  was  larger  than  the  other,  consisted  of  two  re- 
ceptacles of  different  sizes  joined  together.  The  smaller 
was  for  holding  a  single  egg  upright  in  its  shell,  the 
larger  for  having  eggs  broken  into  it.  Into  the  larger 
receptacle  Maggie  had  emptied  two  soft-boiled  eggs, 
American  fashion,  and  this,  with  its  supporting  plate, 
she  now  placed  before  Claire  with  a  bump.  Because  of 
some  congenital  inability  to  gauge  properly  the  dis- 
tance between  the  table  and  the  approaching  dish, 
Maggie  had  a  trick  of  bumping  things  down. 

After  putting  down  the  egg-cup,  she  proceeded  to 
pour  Claire  a  cup  of  coffee,  bumping  that  down,  too,  at 
the  right  of  her  plate.  Claire  consigned  two  lumps  of 
sugar  to  its  depths,  added  a  dash  of  cream,  helped  her- 
self to  a  piece  of  hot  cornbread  from  a  plate  which 
Maggie,  reappearing,  had  just  bumped  down,  and  then, 
noticing  that  the  morning  paper  was  lying  dormant  be- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  153 

side  Caroline's  place,  she  reached  over  for  it  and  began 
reading  it  luxuriously  while  she  slowly  consumed  her 
breakfast.  After  the  strenuous  experiences  of  the  past 
three  days,  and  still  influenced  by  the  relaxation  of 
sleep,  she  viewed  with  fortitude  the  prospect  of  the 
empty  week  which  faced  her,  the  more  so  as  she  was 
unaccustomed,  by  training,  habit,  or  education  rather 
than  by  any  inherent  predisposition,  to  fixed  habits 
of  industry,  and  was  completely  dependent  on  the 
small  duties  she  herself  created  to  escape  from  that 
sense  of  aimless  boredom  with  which  so  many  women 
are  afflicted. 

Claire  finished  her  breakfast,  and,  carrying  the  paper 
with  her,  passed  through  the  library  into  the  parlor, 
and  seated  herself  in  an  armchair  which  stood  in  the 
embrasure  of  one  of  the  windows.  The  window  was 
open,  and  that  first  balmy  hint  of  spring  still  warmed 
the  air.  After  the  listless  despair  of  Sunday  the  street 
basked  in  the  hopeful  contentment  of  a  Monday  morn- 
ing. A  slight  clatter  of  dishes  came  from  the  rear  of  the 
house,  but  presently  the  rolling  to  of  the  sliding  doors 
which  led  to  the  dining-room  shut  these  sounds  out  and 
a  period  of  quiet  followed.  The  house  was  still,  and  in 
the  street  only  an  occasional  pedestrian  passed  with  an 
air  of  leisurely  enjoyment. 

Presently,  diagonally  across  the  way  the  door  of  Mr. 
Weston's  house  opened,  and  Mr.  Weston  himself  came 
down  the  steps  —  a  thick  blond  young  man  with  a 
small  blond  mustache  and  a  head  of  thick  blond  hair 


154  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

on  which  was  perched  a  smallish  Hombourg  hat.  Mr. 
Weston  was  the  individual  mentioned  the  morning  be- 
fore at  the  breakfast  table  who  annoyed  Edward  by 
not  paying  his  rent.  He  taught  vocal  culture  and  gave 
lessons  on  the  piano,  and  at  times  Claire  and  Jamie  had 
stopped  to  listen  to  the  sound  of  a  robustious  voice  issu- 
ing from  his  house  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  piano 
which  had  plainly  seen  better  days. 

Mr.  Weston,  as  he  passed  the  Nicholson  house  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  street,  gazed  so  persistently  up  at 
its  windows  that  Claire,  screened  by  the  dark  green 
cast-iron  railing  of  the  balcony  which  crossed  the  house 
on  a  level  with  the  parlor  floor,  watched  him,  wondering 
if  anything  of  an  unusual  nature  was  attracting  his  at- 
tention; but  almost  at  once  Mr.  Weston's  face  ex- 
panded into  a  gallant  smile,  and,  still  looking  up,  he 
removed  his  hat  with  an  elegant  gesture.  Claire  was 
surprised,  but  applying  herself  instantly  to  the  solution 
of  the  mystery  she  perceived  that  the  angle  of  his  up- 
ward glance  indicated  that  he  was  looking  at  Aunt 
Kate's  windows,  and  as  she  had  not  yet  come  down,  it 
must  be  with  Kate  herself  that  he  was  exchanging 
greetings,  greetings,  moreover,  of  a  startling  character 
of  friendliness. 

Mr.  Weston  passed  out  of  sight,  and  immediately  a 
door  closed  above  and  some  one  began  to  descend  the 
stairs.  Claire  raised  the  paper  and  became  absorbed. 
The  steps  reached  the  first  floor  and  were  passing  the 
parlor  door  when  they  stopped  abruptly.   Claire,  behind 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  155 

her  paper,  could  almost  see  that  Kate,  discovering  that 
she  might  have  been  a  witness  of  Weston's  salute,  had 
paused  for  a  moment  in  consternation.  Claire  did  not 
move,  and  Kate  continued  her  journey  to  the  dining- 
room  without  speaking  and  without  claiming  her  right 
to  the  newspaper  which  Claire  was  holding.  To  Claire 
this  was  the  most  convincing  proof  that  Kate  had  been 
seriously  disturbed  by  finding  her  in  the  parlor. 

This  incident,  although  of  passing  interest,  made  no 
great  impression  on  Claire  and  by  the  time  she  had 
finished  the  paper,  had  receded  into  an  oblivion,  whence 
it  was  to  be  called  only  by  later  events.  Leaving  the 
paper  in  the  chair  she  had  been  occupying,  she  now 
ascended  to  her  room,  and  getting  out  various  articles 
of  apparel  she  sat  down  by  a  little  workstand  and  began 
mending  them,  assuming  immediately  that  peculiar  atti- 
tude of  domestic  absorption  characteristic  of  all  women 
when  engaged  in  similar  occupations.  At  such  times 
women  rarely  think,  nor  did  Claire,  but  occasionally, 
when  her  hands  holding  her  sewing  rested  for  a  time  on 
her  lap  and  her  eyes  lifted  themselves  contemplatively, 
one  could  have  seen  that  her  mind  was  once  more  at 
work.  She  was  thinking  carelessly  of  a  variety  of  things, 
of  certain  purchases  she  intended  to  make,  a  hat  or  two, 
some  summer  gowns;  of  the  wretched  family  she  had 
seen  the  night  before;  but  most  of  all  of  Jamie  and  the 
problem  he  presented.  She  was  not  very  much  troubled 
by  it,  because,  although  she  knew  well  enough  that  care 
and  patience  would  be  needed,  she  hoped  that  her  in- 


156  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

fluence  now  that  she  was  forewarned  would  easily  save 
him;  but  what  harrowed  her  conscience  was  the  fact 
that  she  should  have  never  noticed  things  which  must 
have  been  there  for  the  noticing  had  she  not  been  too 
dull  or  too  preoccupied  with  her  own  affairs  or  too 
naive  to  understand  them;  and  during  all  that  period 
of  easy  blindness  on  her  part  Jamie  had  been  getting  in 
deeper  and  deeper. 

From  the  family  no  help  could  be  expected.  Their 
attitude  toward  Jamie  would  be  one  of  dour  watching, 
which  would  arouse  resentment  on  Jamie's  part  and 
make  her  task  more  difficult  —  it  was  n't  going  to  be 
easy;  and  she  was  glad  that  Mallette  was  coming  in  on 
Friday  so  that  she  would  have  some  one  to  discuss  it 
with,  and  after  all,  with  the  optimism  with  which  people 
regard  almost  all  such  cases,  no  doubt  it  would  all 
come  right  in  the  end. 

Half  an  hour  before  luncheon-time  she  put  on  her 
things  and  went  for  a  brisk  walk,  leaving  the  house 
again  immediately  after  luncheon  for  an  afternoon  of 
shopping.  At  five  she  took  a  bus  to  its  terminus  at 
Washington  Square,  and  from  there  walked  down  to 
meet  Jamie  —  this  had  been  agreed  on  the  night  before 
—  under  the  metallic  clatter  of  the  Elevated  and 
through  the  odors  and  noises  of  the  untidy  street. 
Presently  she  saw  his  trim  figure  advancing  with  its 
cheerful,  lively  step.  He  was  swinging  his  stick  gayly, 
and  on  perceiving  Claire  he  waved  a  welcome  with 
one  of  his  inimitable  waggish  gestures  which  always 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  157 

made  Claire  laugh.  They  locked  arms  and  started  north 
together. 

"Did  everything  go  all  right  to-day,  darling?" 
Claire  asked. 

"Tip-top !  George  did  n't  turn  up "  —  George  was  in 
a  broker's  office  in  the  "Street"  —  "and  I  always  get 
along  better  the  days  I  don't  see  him  —  Whew,  what  a 
racket !  Let 's  hurry  out  of  this ! "  And  quickening  their 
pace  they  reached  the  Square  and  began  crossing  toward 
Fifth  Avenue. 

"I  say,  Claire,"  Jamie  began  suddenly,  "what  do  you 
suppose?" 

"Well,  what?"  replied  Claire. 

"You  must  keep  this  absolutely  to  yourself,"  he 
added  impressively. 

"All  right;  what  is  it?" 

"Uncle  Edward  had  a  call  from  a  lady  to-day!"  he 
announced  with  a  significant  air. 

"What  of  it,  Jamie?" 

"You  ought  to  have  seen  her!"  Jamie  whistled. 
"Pretty  as  a  picture,  but  —  well,  you  know!" 

"But,  Jamie,  she  might  have  —  " 

"I  know,"  Jamie  interrupted;  "she  might  have  been 
a  buyer  for  an  uptown  dry-goods  shop,  or  a  drummer,  or 
she  might  have  been  soliciting  subscriptions  for  woman's 
suffrage  —  only  she  was  n't  —  I'm  no  fool,  Claire.  I'll 
tell  you  just  what  happened.  You  know  our  offices 
take  up  the  whole  first  floor  and  the  entrance  to  them 
is  in  the  center  of  the  building  at  the  front.    You've 


158  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

been  there,  have  n't  you?  Well,  at  the  side  there's  an- 
other entrance  which  you  take  when  you  want  to  get  to 
the  stairway  leading  to  the  upper  floors.  Nobody  ever 
uses  this  entrance  because  the  upper  floors  are  vacant, 
and  there's  no  way  of  getting  to  it  from  our  place  ex- 
cept that  Uncle  Edward's  office  has  a  door  leading  into 
it  —  although  until  to-day  I  did  n't  know  that  he  ever 
used  it.  Well,  I'd  been  out  to  lunch,  and  as  smoking 
is  n't  allowed  in  the  office,  and  as  I  had  n't  finished  my 
cigarette,  I  went  in  to  the  side  entrance  and  sat  down 
on  the  bottom  step  to  finish  it  —  "  Jamie  interrupted 
himself  to  say  ruefully,  "I'm  a  prize,  Claire,  for  get- 
ting myself  into  trouble  with  the  family!  —  I  had  n't 
been  there  two  minutes  when  the  door  leading  to  Un- 
cle Edward's  office  opened  part  way  and  the  lady 
slipped  out.  I  was  sitting  right  opposite,  and  as  I 
looked  up  I  saw  Uncle  Edward  inside  and  he  saw  me, 
but  he  did  n't  say  a  word,  but  jerked  his  head  back 
and  shut  and  locked  the  door  as  quick  as  anything. 
The  lady  gave  me  a  look  as  if  she  kind  of  knew  who 
I  was,  and  out  she  went  —  and,  Claire,  she  was  awfully 
pretty  and  awfully  well  dressed,  but  —  well,  you  know. 
You  could  have  knocked  me  over  with  a  feather!  Of 
course,  Edward  will  be  more  down  on  me  than  ever 
now!" 

Although  Jamie  told  his  story  in  his  usual  casual,  not 
to  say  flippant,  manner,  Claire  saw  that  he  had  re- 
ceived a  shock  as  if  some  element  of  faith,  which  even 
if  unformulated,  all  men  cherish,  had  been  upset  for 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  159 

him.  Jamie's  experience  had  plainly  proved,  he  be- 
lieved, that  Edward  was  not  what  he  pretended  to  be. 
Claire  wondered  whether  he  had  been  given  a  glimpse 
of  the  real  Edward  which  she  had  thought  at  times 
must  exist  somewhere,  but  whom  she  had  never  been 
able  to  find,  and  a  sinking  sensation,  as  if  something 
were  giving  way  beneath  her  feet,  as  if  she  had  received 
a  dizzying  blow,  caused  her  to  walk  in  silence,  and  sud- 
denly she  remembered  Caroline's  expression  at  break- 
fast, her  perturbation,  her  swimming  eyes,  and  won- 
dered if  the  real  reason  for  them  lay  in  what  Jamie  had 
been  telling  her. 

Claire,  without  knowing  why,  believed  what  Jamie 
believed  —  to  her  horror  —  and  an  awful  realization 
confronted  her  that  in  the  future  there  would  be  hidden 
in  the  house  in  Ninth  Street,  away  from  the  world,  a 
disgraceful  and  terrible  secret,  to  which  she  would  be 
a  party.  Edward's  secret!  And  Jamie's  secret!  Poor 
Jamie  had  one,  too.  The  simple  machinery  of  life 
seemed  to  be  becoming  complicated  and  sinister,  and 
recalling  suddenly  Mr.  Weston's  thick  smile  and  the 
knowing  quality  of  the  flourish  with  which  he  had 
bowed  toward  Kate's  windows,  she  wondered  if  Kate, 
too,  had  hers. 

During  these  cogitations  Jamie  had  walked  quietly 
beside  her,  and  as  they  had  reached  their  door  they 
went  up,  still  in  silence,  each  preoccupied  and  rather 
hushed,  as  if  since  morning  the  house  had  become 
permeated  with  a  strange  and  subtly  disturbing  atmos- 


160  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

phere.  But  as  they  were  separating  on  the  landing 
Jamie  whispered: 

"Let's  dine  out  somewhere,  Claire!" 

"Oh,  no,  Jamie!  We  can't  again,  so  soon!  The  only 
thing  is  not  to  take  anything  for  granted  and  act  as  if 
nothing  unusual  had  happened.  After  all,  we  don't 
really  know.  And  we  have  n't  any  right  to  assume 
things,  have  we?" 

About  seven,  therefore,  the  doors  of  Claire's  and 
Jamie's  rooms  opened,  as  did  Caroline's,  Kate's,  and 
George's,  and  the  Nicholson  family  went  down  to 
dinner,  to  find  Edward  seated  as  usual  reading  the 
paper  under  the  library  chandelier.  Strange  as  it 
seemed  to  Claire,  Edward  was  precisely  the  same 
Edward  he  always  had  been;  no  more  quiet  nor  talk- 
ative, nor  preoccupied  nor  taciturn,  nor  facetious  nor 
solemn,  than  he  was  wont  to  be.  He  betrayed  no  con- 
sciousness of  having  been  discovered  in  any  dubious 
situation,  and  his  attitude  toward  Jamie  showed  no 
modification  of  any  kind,  bestowing  on  him  a  degree  of 
favor  not  a  shade  more  or  less  than  usual;  in  fact,  per- 
haps, rather  less,  owing  to  Jamie's  recent  escapade. 

And  yet  to  Claire  the  house  was  not  the  same. 

Caroline  had  recovered  from  her  agitation  of  the 
morning  and  conversation  flowed  as  usual. 

"And  so  Mr.  Orville  is  Dudley  Orville,  the  financier! " 
began  Caroline.  "Well!  Well!  You  want  to  keep  on 
the  right  side  of  him,  George!"  George  had  exploded  a 
bomb  the  day  before,  no  less  potent  than  Claire's  reve- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  161 

lation  of  the  origin  of  Mallette.   "Why  did  n't  you  tell 
us?" 

"I  thought,  of  course,  you'd  know,"  George  answered. 

"I  wondered  what  he  dined  with  George  for?"  Jamie 
hazarded. 

"Why  shouldn't  he?"  Edward  demanded;  and 
George  retorted,  "Because  I  asked  him  to!" 

Jamie  decided  not  to  pursue  the  subject,  but  Kate 
went  on  with  it  by  saying:  "There  isn't  any  reason 
why  he  should  n't,  but  why  did  he?  George  is  only  a 
clerk  in  a  broker's  office,  while  Mr.  Orville  is  a  well- 
known  capitalist." 

"Say  financier,"  suggested  George.  "I'm  not  sure 
whether  he's  in  the  capitalist  class  yet  or  not.  There's 
quite  a  difference.  And  as  for  his  coming  here,  I'll  tell 
you  the  exact  reason!"  George  seemed  in  splendid 
spirits,  so  evidently  so  that  Jamie  could  n't  help  asking, 
"What's  the  matter  with  you?  Made  some  money  on 
the  Street  to-day?"  thereby  directing  to  himself,  from 
Edward  and  Caroline,  certain  disapproving  glances 
which  seemed  to  say,  "Since  disgracing  yourself  the 
other  night,  it  would  be  more  seemly  if  you  did  n't  have 
so  much  to  say  for  yourself!"  And  Jamie  subsided  once 
more. 

"He  came,"  George  went  on,  "because  he  thinks  I 
may  be  useful  to  him ! "  Which  was  n't  the  exact  reason 
at  all  —  partly,  perhaps;  but  George  knew  that  Orville 
had  liked  Claire's  looks,  and  while  quite  content  that 
it  should  be  so,  did  not  intend  to  let  it  lessen  his  own 


162  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

importance,  with  Orville,  the  financier,  in  the  public 
eye. 

"I  must  say,"  Caroline  observed,  "he  seemed  very 
democratic  for  such  a  wealthy  man!" 

"He's  got  a  splendid  piano!"  Jamie's  voice  was 
heard  once  more.  He  stopped  abruptly  and  was  seen  to 
be  tremendously  absorbed  in  his  dinner.  But  the  acute 
George,  after  a  moment's  silence,  demanded,  "How  do 
you  know?  " 

Jamie  cast  a  despairing  glance  at  Claire. 

"Well,  Jamie,  you  are  a  fool!"  This  from  Caroline; 
and  Claire,  realizing  that  there  was  no  help  for  it,  in- 
formed the  table  of  their  engagement  of  the  night  be- 
fore. The  news  plainly  flabbergasted  George  and  re- 
duced him  to  a  wondering  silence,  with  which  the  heavy 
disapproval  of  Edward's  manner  seemed  to  mingle. 

This  was  broken  presently  by  Edward  himself,  who, 
turning  his  light  grayish-green  eyes  on  Jamie,  asked 
him,  "Did  you  drink  anything  there?"  referring  to 
their  dinner  at  the  Ritz. 

"Of  course  I  did  n't,  uncle.  Ask  Claire!" 

"Do  you  think  that  is  the  way  to  help  your  brother 
to  avoid  temptation?"  Edward  demanded  of  Claire; 
and,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  asked  Caroline 
whether  she  had  known  where  they  were  going. 

"No;  Claire  told  me  this  morning.  There's  no  use 
crying  over  spilt  milk,  so  I  was  n't  going  to  say  any- 
thing about  it!"  Caroline  explained. 

"Very  well,  then,"  Edward  answered;  "I  did  n't  ex- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  163 

pect  much  of  Jamie,  but  if  Claire  has  n't  any  better 
judgment  than  to  go  to  places  like  the  Ritz  with  him  — 
on  Sunday  night,  too  —  I  shall  have  to  forbid  your  go- 
ing anywhere  of  an  evening  without  my  permission." 

This  ultimatum  caused  Claire  to  flush,  and  Jamie  to 
turn  sulky. 

Edward  presently  finished  and  descended  to  his  base- 
ment room  as  usual,  Caroline  and  Kate  disappeared, 
Kate  upstairs  and  Caroline  into  the  lower  regions,  and 
Claire,  George,  and  Jamie  found  themselves  alone  in 
the  drawing-room. 

"It's  funny  he  did  n't  ask  me!"  George  at  length  re- 
marked gloomily. 

"He'll  probably  ask  you  next  time,"  Jamie  observed 
generously.  "Besides,  you  could  n't  have  gone,  anyway. 
You're  an  usher  on  Sunday  nights." 

"Oh,  shut  up!"  answered  George.  "Did  he  say  any- 
thing about  me,  Claire?" 

"Yes,  he  did,"  replied  Claire.  "He  said  you  were 
very  able." 

"Did  he?"  exclaimed  George,  highly  mollified. 

"I  told  you  he  wanted  something  of  you.  Next  time 
I'll  try  to  find  out  what  it  is  for  you,"  said  Jamie. 

"There  won't  be  any  next  time  for  you"  George  re- 
torted with  ominous  significance. 

"Why  not?" 

"Did  n't  you  hear  what  Uncle  Edward  said?" 

"I'll  go  if  I  want  to,"  Jamie  answered  resentfully. 

"You'll  be  a  fool  if  you  do!" 


164  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"No,  Jamie,  you  mustn  %'*  said  Claire.  "Promise!" 
But,   Jamie   wearing  his   stubborn   expression,   sat 
down  at  the  piano  and  began  to  play. 

This  was  Monday.  On  Tuesday  nothing  of  special 
note  occurred,  nor  on  Wednesday;  but  on  Thursday 
night  Jamie  did  not  come  home  to  dinner.  This  fla- 
grant inattention  to  Edward's  definite  command  cast  a 
shadow  over  the  meal  and  destroyed  Claire's  appetite. 
Caroline  wondered  fretfully  and  audibly  what  had  be- 
come of  him,  and  Edward  maintained  a  silence  loaded 
with  significance.  Claire  went  to  her  room  immediately 
after  dinner,  but  descended  almost  at  once  and  rang 
up  Mallette.  To  her  relief,  and  a  little  to  her  surprise, 
his  voice  presently  answered  her.  He  had  seen  nothing 
of  Jamie.  Claire  had  feared  that  Jamie  might  be  repeat- 
ing his  performance  of  a  previous  night  in  Mallette's 
company. 

Claire  again  ascended  the  stairs. 

At  quarter-past  ten  Caroline  and  Kate  came  up  to 
their  rooms;  at  half -past,  George's  door  closed;  and  a 
little  after  eleven  Claire  heard  Edward's  heavy  tread. 
Claire  took  up  a  book  and  sat  down  prepared  to  wait 
for  Jamie's  arrival,  but  almost  at  once  she  heard  Ed- 
ward's voice  below,  and  an  instant  later  recognized 
Jamie's.  He  must  have  closed  the  front  door,  when  he 
came  in,  too  softly  for  her  to  hear.  Claire  stepped  into 
the  hall  and  listened.  Jamie,  on  one  of  the  lower  steps 
of  the  stairs  leading  to  their  floor,  was  explaining  his 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  165 

absence  to  Edward,  who  was  standing  in  his  doorway, 
Jamie,  in  an  apparently  sober  voice,  so  far  as  Claire 
could  tell,  was  recounting  how  he  had  met  a  friend  who 
had  tickets  for  the  opera  —  a  performance  of  "The 
Secret  of  Suzanne,"  which  he  particularly  wanted  to 
hear  —  and  who  had  invited  him  to  go  provided  he 
dined  with  him  first.  Jamie  explained  that  he  had  not 
thought  that  there  was  any  harm  in  just  dining  on  short 
notice  that  way,  and  he  had  accepted,  intending  to 
telephone  after  dinner  and  ask  if  he,  Uncle  Edward, 
objected  to  his  attending  the  opera.  In  fact  he  had 
telephoned,  but  had  been  told  that  the  Nicholson  num- 
ber was  busy  —  had  tried  twice,  in  fact,  with  the  same 
result,  and  could  not  do  so  again  without  being  late  for 
the  opera.  Upon  Edward's  asking  him  why  he  had  n't 
taken  the  trouble  to  telephone  between  the  acts,  he  re- 
plied that  it  had  n't  occurred  to  him. 

Edward  listened  to  this  explanation  with  an  air  indi- 
cating that  he  would  have  to  think  it  over  before  de- 
ciding whether  to  accept  it  or  not,  and,  turning,  dis- 
appeared into  his  room. 

Claire  waited  by  her  door,  and  as  Jamie  came  up, 
beckoned  to  him,  but  Jamie,  with  a  shake  of  the  head, 
put  a  finger  to  his  lips,  pointed  downward,  and  with  a 
smile  which  seemed  not  exactly  like  Jamie,  went  into 
his  room  and  closed  the  door.  Claire  stepped  into  the 
hall,  and  looking  down  saw  the  possible  reason  for 
Jamie's  gesture  —  Edward's  door  stood  slightly  ajar. 
And  yet  —  never  before,  during  all  their  lives,  even  from 


166  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

their  earliest  days,  had  Jamie  rebuffed  her.  A  sadness, 
an  overwhelming  depression  seized  her,  and  as  she 
stood  there  it  seemed  to  her  that  there  came  to  her 
nostrils,  but  very  faintly,  a  trace  of  that  smell,  that  odor 
of  drink,  which  had  first  —  that  night  when  she  had 
found  him  with  Mallette  —  revealed  his  condition  to 
her. 

Claire  undressed  and  got  into  bed.  There  was  nothing 
to  be  done  —  perhaps,  even,  everything  had  happened 
precisely  as  he  had  said,  and  she  realized  that  palpably 
to  doubt  him,  when  he  was  really  telling  the  truth, 
would,  where  Jamie  was  concerned,  be  the  gravest  of 
mistakes.  She,  at  all  events,  must  not.  Certainly,  his 
story  was  in  itself  not  at  all  improbable.  He  said  that  he 
had  tried  twice  to  get  the  house  —  the  first  time  might 
easily  have  been  the  moment  when  she  was  talking  to 
Mallette,  and  although  she  could  not  remember  that 
the  telephone  had  been  used  again,  everybody  knew 
how  often  Central  made  mistakes.  As  for  forgetting  to 
try  again  between  the  acts,  that  was  so  like  Jamie,  when 
under  the  spell  of  music,  that  it  seemed  to  stamp  with 
indubitable  verity  the  whole  tale. 

And  yet,  Claire  doubted  —  tried  not  to  doubt,  yet 
doubted  —  and  doubting  fell  into  an  uneasy  sleep. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Mallette  called  on  Friday  afternoon  and  for  a  num- 
ber of  following  Fridays.  Orville,  too,  began  to  call,  al- 
ways in  the  evenings.  As  Mallette's  evenings  were 
occupied  with  the  exception  of  Sundays  —  when  he 
occasionally  dropped  in  —  and  as  Orville  never  called 
on  Sunday  evenings,  they  did  not  meet. 

It  was  seen  at  the  Nicholsons'  that  Claire  had  two 
assiduants  of  a  character  quite  different  from  the  neigh- 
boring boy  friends  of  her  adolescence,  and  they  derived 
a  certain  pride  from  the  fact,  to  which  they  gave  ex- 
pression by  occasional  jokes  at  table  at  Claire's  expense. 
Claire  did  not  mind;  on  the  contrary,  the  fact  that  two 
mature  admirers  had  become  obvious  enough  to  arouse 
their  comment  rather  pleased  her,  and  if  it  had  not 
been  for  her  concern  over  Jamie's  future  and  certain 
other  things,  she  would  have  been  quite  happy. 

The  manner  and  the  circumstances  of  Claire's  inter- 
course with  each  were  quite  characteristic.  Claire's  days 
never  produced  more  than  a  caller  or  two,  and  as  the 
season  advanced,  even  these  failed  her.  Friday  after- 
noon, therefore,  usually  found  her  in  the  drawing-room 
alone  with  Mallette.  They  would  sit  quietly,  each 
drinking  a  number  of  cups  of  tea,  discussing,  amicably 
and  in  a  perfectly  impersonal  way,  the  things  which 
interested  them  and  then  Mallette  would  go  away. 


168  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

Claire  knew  instinctively  that  there  was  an  element  of 
daring  in  Mallette's  character,  and  the  contrast  between 
this  known  quality  and  his  quiet,  almost  controlled, 
manner  when  with  her  aroused  in  her  speculation  and  a 
little  amusement.  But  with  Orville,  how  different !  Once 
or  twice  a  week  the  bell  would  ring,  Orville's  strong 
voice  would  be  heard  in  the  hall,  and  looking  out  one 
would  see  Orville's  superlative  motor,  with  its  aspect  of 
noiseless  and  quiescent  power,  standing  motionless  by 
the  curb.  Orville  would  come  into  the  parlor  with  his 
assured  laugh,  chaff  Aunt  Caroline  a  little  if  she  hap- 
pened to  be  there,  filling  the  room  with  the  radiations 
of  his  strong  and  vital  personality.  But  he  was  always 
restless,  and  presently  jumping  up  he  would  bundle 
Claire  into  the  motor  with  Jamie,  or  George  if  he  hap- 
pened to  be  at  home;  or  even  Aunt  Caroline,  as 
chaperon  for  a  ride  through  the  Park  or  up  Riverside, 
always  insisting  on  a  stop  somewhere,  at  some  restau- 
rant, where  they  would  sit  listening  to  the  music  long 
enough  to  eat  an  ice,  but  not  longer,  when  Orville  would 
be  ready  to  be  off  again.  But  he  was  always  gay,  with  a 
chaffing,  impersonal,  paternal  air  which  Claire  liked. 

The  Nicholsons  belonged  to  that  old  generation  of 
New  Yorkers,  of  which  many  still  exist  here  and  there, 
who  have  never  owned  country  places,  who  prefer 
New  York  at  all  seasons,  and  who,  if  they  leave  it  at  all, 
do  so  by  going  sometimes  during  the  dog-days  for  a  week 
or  two  to  a  hotel  —  at  the  seashore  or  in  the  mountains. 

July,  therefore,  still  found  them  at  Ninth  Street. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  169 

Caroline  was  talking  about  taking  Claire  to  the  White 
Mountains  sometime  in  August,  but  the  others  seemed 
indisposed  to  leave.  Indeed,  Edward  and  Kate  had  not 
spent  a  night  away  from  home  for  ten  years,  except 
that  Edward  absented  himself  at  regular  intervals  to 
visit  the  button  factory.  George  and  Jamie  took  what 
change  of  air  they  wanted  in  occasional  visits  to  near-by 
beaches,  and  George,  in  addition  belonged  to  a  subur- 
ban golf  club  with  some  pretensions  to  smartness. 

On  the  fifteenth  of  May  painters  appeared  in  re- 
sponse to  orders  from  Caroline,  the  window  shutters 
were  brought  up  from  the  cellar,  and,  supported  on 
empty  barrels  in  the  back  yard,  were  given  their  annual 
application  of  dark  green  paint.  On  the  twenty-second 
they  were  hung  at  all  the  windows  in  the  house,  to  be 
ready  for  use  in  case  the  hot  wave  which  often  arrived 
during  the  end  of  May  should  make  its  appearance.  As 
soon  as  it  was  seen  that  the  warm  weather  was  indubit- 
ably at  hand,  the  shutters  began  to  be  manipulated 
with  classic  regularity.  All  must  be  closed  throughout 
the  house  upon  rising  and  must  remain  so  during  the 
day.  A  certain  latitude  as  to  the  adjustment  of  slats 
to  admit  light  was  permitted,  but  the  shutters  them- 
selves must  be  kept  closed  as  if  they  belonged  to  the 
carapace  of  some  large  animal  to  which  the  blaze  of 
summer  was  inimical.  During  the  hottest  hours  of  the 
day,  the  windows  too  were  shut,  and  under  these  rigid 
regulations,  on  the  observance  of  which  Caroline  in- 
sisted, the  interior  of  the  house  resembled  a  cool,  dark 


170  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

cavern  withdrawn  from  the  arid  blaze  of  the  summer 
sun. 

But  as  evening  approached,  and  as  the  glare  of  day 
began  to  wane,  the  raising  of  windows  could  be  heard, 
the  sound  of  shutters  being  thrown  open  and  catching 
in  their  hooks  as  they  collided  with  the  brick  walls  of 
the  house.  The  front  door  would  stand  ajar,  secured  by 
its  chain  bolt,  and  the  casement  windows  of  the  draw- 
ing-room would  be  pushed  back  by  Maggie  during  her 
post-dinner  progress  of  the  lower  rooms.  The  sound  of 
water  running  into  or  out  of  tubs  would  be  heard,  and 
presently  the  Nicholsons,  bathed  and  freshly  clothed, 
would  gather  in  the  dining-room  to  assemble  around  a 
table  less  brightly  lighted  than  in  winter.  In  the  library 
one  gas-jet  only  burned  in  the  chandelier,  and  in  that 
of  the  drawing-room  none.  The  lamps,  too,  were  dis- 
pensed with,  as  giving  out  too  much  heat,  and  only 
the  lights  in  the  side  brackets  were  maintained.  After 
dinner  Edward  would  descend  to  his  sanctum,  where 
in  the  dusk,  periodically  illumined  by  the  glow  of  his 
cigar,  he  might  be  dimly  distinguished  seated  in  his 
shirt-sleeves,  motionless,  as  if  lost  in  the  depths  of  some 
secret  preoccupation.   So  it  had  always  been. 

So,  too,  was  it  the  habit  of  Caroline  and  Kate  to  re- 
tire, at  an  earlier  hour  than  in  winter,  to  their  rooms, 
where,  removing  their  corsets,  they  would  sit  by  their 
windows  languidly  waving  palm-leaf  fans,  and  so,  too, 
did  the  habits  of  the  younger  generation,  fortified  by 
the  vitality  of  youth,  remain  unchanged.  Jamie  would 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  171 

sit  at  the  piano,  Claire  by  one  of  the  drawing-room  win- 
dows, while  George  was  likely  to  be  off  somewhere  in 
pursuit  of  one  of  the  many  purposes  with  which  he  had 
already  begun  to  fill  his  life. 

So  the  routine  of  the  Nicholson  family  went  on  as 
formerly,  but  to  Claire  it  was  no  longer  the  same.  Under 
the  glazed  surfaces  of  its  smoothly  flowing  current,  she 
had  begun  to  fear  that  elements  of  danger  existed  whose 
nature  she  could  comprehend  only  in  part,  and  she 
had  begun  to  realize,  too,  under  the  influence  of  her 
confused  forebodings,  the  complicated  nature  of  man. 
These  entities  around  her  —  Edward,  Caroline,  Kate, 
George,  even  her  darling  Jamie  —  were  resolving  them- 
selves, under  the  stress  of  circumstances  and  of  Claire's 
maturing  eye,  into  complicated  personalities  charged 
with  all  manner  of  undreamed-of  potentialities,  and 
were  demanding  more  thought  of  her,  as  if  they  had 
suddenly  revealed  themselves  as  difficult  riddles  re- 
quiring solution. 

Before  dinner  one  evening,  as  she  sat  alone  in  the 
drawing-room,  she  heard  Jamie  come  in  and  go  up  to 
his  room.  She  saw  him  through  the  partly  open  draw- 
ing-room door  as  he  ascended,  and  something  about 
his  movements  and  the  sound  of  his  footsteps,  which 
lacked  their  usual  elasticity,  caused  her  to  go  up  after 
him.  She  knocked  and  called  to  him,  and  with  a  voice 
muffled  by  the  sound  of  water  splashing  in  his  wash- 
basin, he  had  answered  her,  but  had  not  opened  his 
door.    Claire  went  into  her  room  to  wait  for  him,  but 


172  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

presently,  as  her  clock  struck  seven,  she  went  down  to 
dinner. 

"Where's  Jamie?"  Caroline  asked,  as  Edward  fin- 
ished carving.  "Has  n't  he  come  in  yet?"  Continuing, 
as  Claire  answered  in  the  affirmative,  "Maggie,  go  up 
and  see  why  he  does  n't  come  down!" 

Maggie  went  up,  and  her  voice  could  be  heard  faintly 
from  above,  calling  "Misther  Jamie!  Misther  Jamie!" 
interspersed  evidently  with  rappings.  After  a  longish 
wait,  during  which  her  absence  disorganized  the  usual 
procedure  of  dinner,  she  returned,  saying  that  he  would 
be  down  presently.  There  was  another  wait,  and  at  last, 
when  dessert  had  been  almost  reached,  Jamie  came 
into  the  room.  Claire  knew,  before  she  had  even  looked 
at  him,  by  some  process  of  intuition,  that  something 
was  wrong,  and  only  hoped  that  the  others  would  not 
notice  it.  He  sat  down,  glancing  quickly  and,  Claire 
thought,  half  defiantly,  around  the  table. 

"Will  ye  have  some  soup,  Misther  Jamie?"  This 
from  Maggie. 

"No,  thank  you." 

The  voice  was  abrupt  and  slighty  muffled,  not 
Jamie's  voice,  and  Claire  saw  that  George  was  looking 
at  him  intently.  No  one  else,  however,  seemed  to  be 
aware  of  anything  unusual. 

"Did  n't  you  hear  the  gong?"  Caroline  asked. 

Jamie's  answer  was  not  quite  intelligible. 

"What?" 

"I  say  I  was  reading!" 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  173 

"Oh!  Well,  your  dinner  will  be  spoiled.  Don't  you 
want  some  soup?  Maggie  will  have  it  heated  for  you?" 

Again  a  response  which  could  not  be  distinguished. 

"What?" 

"I  said,  no,  thank  you!" 

Claire  dared  not  look  at  him  directly,  but  she  was 
aware  that  he  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  in  an  ex- 
aggeratedly easy  pose,  and  that  his  fingers,  twisting 
the  stem  of  his  goblet  of  water,  were  turning  it  round 
and  round  as  it  stood  on  the  table.  Kate  made  some 
observation  which  aroused  a  general  conversation  for 
a  moment,  but  presently,  during  a  period  of  quiet, 
Jamie's  voice  rose,  saying, 

"Say,  Claire!  Did  you  know  that  Mallette's  a  great 
admirer  of  yours?   He  says  —  " 

"Never  mind,  Jamie,"  Claire  answered  as  casually 
as  she  could,  and  yet  flushing  in  spite  of  herself. 

"Wait  a  minute!"  returned  Jamie,  with  an  air  of 
obstinacy,  "I  want  to  —  " 

There  was  evident  in  his  speech  a  slight  thickness 
which  began  to  attract  attention. 

"Oh,  shut  up!"  George  cried.  "Nobody  cares 
what  —  " 

"Wait  a  minute!"  Jamie  repeated  with  irritation. 
"He  says  — " 

"Oh!"  A  sharp  exclamation  interrupted  him,  and 
Caroline  jumped  up  from  her  chair  shaking  her  skirt. 
Jamie  had  upset  his  goblet  and  the  water  was  running 
into  her  lap.  George  emitted  an  exclamation  of  annoy- 


174  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

ance  and  disgust,  and  looked  about  him  at  the  others 
with  an  expression  which  seemed  to  say,  "Well,  what 
did  I  tell  you!"  Jamie's  color  had  heightened,  and  in  a 
voice  whose  articulation  was  now  unmistakably  thick, 
he  began  to  apologize.  Everybody  looked  at  Edward, 
who  was  looking  at  Jamie  fixedly. 

"You'd  better  go  upstairs!"  he  commanded  at  last 
with  an  air  of  finality. 

"All  right!"  answered  Jamie,  more  thickly  than  ever. 
He  got  up,  looked  defiantly  around  the  room  once  more, 
and  went  out. 

"  Well ! "  exclaimed  George  with  exasperation.  "  There 
you  are!  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

But  nobody  seemed  to  know. 

A  cure  was  suggested,  but  while  each  member  of  the 
family  shrank  from  recommending  it  to  Jamie,  and 
thereby  branding  him  to  his  face  as  a  drunkard,  all 
from  Edward  down  felt  it  necessary  to  scold  him  se- 
verely, even  Claire. 

Claire's  encounter  with  him  took  place  the  following 
morning.  She  had  had  breakfast  and  for  an  hour  had 
been  sitting  in  the  drawing-room  with  the  newspaper, 
Kate  for  some  unknown  reason  having  risen  early  and 
gone  out  immediately  after  breakfast. 

He  had  descended  the  stairs  and  gone  into  the  dining- 
room,  whence  issued  for  a  time  the  sound  of  desultory 
exchanges  with  Maggie  and  the  occasional  clatter  of  a 
dish,  but  presently,  having  evidently  completed  his 
breakfast,  he  came  quickly  down  the  hall  and  into  the 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  175 

drawing-room  plainly  under  the  impression  that  it  was 
empty,  for  on  seeing  Claire  he  stopped  with  a  faint  ex- 
clamation of  surprise  and  a  sudden  accession  of  con- 
fusion in  his  manner.  Claire  sprang  to  her  feet,  avoided 
him  by  a  wide  detour,  and  without  a  word  made  for  the 
door,  but  as  she  reached  it  he  cried  "Claire!"  with  an 
accent  so  despairing  that  her  heart  seemed  in  that  in- 
stant to  turn  fluid.  Controlling  herself,  she  stopped 
and  faced  him. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  demanded,  flushed  and 
scornful. 

"Claire,"  he  repeated,  looking  at  her  miserably,  and 
sinking  on  to  the  piano-stool  he  folded  his  arms  on  the 
piano  and  dropped  his  head  upon  them,  saying  pres- 
ently, his  voice  muffled  in  the  sleeve  of  his  coat,  "I'm 
so  unhappy!" 

"Why  should  you  be  unhappy?  You  do  what  you 
like.  You  make  us  unhappy,  but  why  you  should  be, 
I  don't  understand!" 

"I  don't  do  what  I  like!"  Jamie  cried  almost  hysteri- 
cally, jumping  up  and  clenching  his  hands  fiercely.  "I 
tell  you  I  don't!" 

"Why  do  you  do  it,  then?" 

"How  do  I  know?  Do  you  suppose  it's  because  I 
want  to?" 

"Then,  when  you  stop,  I'll  begin  to  believe  once 
more  that  you  care  a  little  about  me,  Jamie!" 

Jamie  began  pacing  excitedly  up  and  down,  saying 
over  and  over,  "I  wish  I  were  dead !  I  wish  I  were  dead," 


176  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

when  suddenly  with  that  emotional  calculation  which  is 
woman's  second  nature,  Claire  began  to  cry.  Sinking 
into  Caroline's  chair  which  stood  by  the  small  table  she 
began  to  cry,  pressing  her  handkerchief  tremblingly 
against  her  eyes.  And  at  the  spectacle  of  her  abandon- 
ment Jamie  stopped  abruptly.  From  an  access  of  sub- 
jective commiseration  she  had  drawn  him  quickly  to 
think  only  of  herself,  and  almost  at  once  she  felt  his 
arms  encircle  her  shoulders. 

"Claire,  please,  please!  I  love  you  so!" 

"You  don't!"  she  answered  between  her  sobs. 

"I  do,  I  do,  Claire!"  he  repeated  imploringly. 

"You  don't!  You  only  think  about  yourself !  If  you 
did  n't  you  would  have  seen  how  unhappy  you  've  been 
making  me!" 

"Don't  cry,  Claire!  Please,  please  don't  cry!  I 
swear  I  '11  never  do  it  again !  Please,  please ! "  And  under 
the  stress  of  his  entreaties  Claire  gradually  grew  calmer. 
Jamie  would  have  taken  her  in  his  arms,  remembering 
that  first  strong  embrace  here  in  this  room  after  Claire's 
first  discovery,  but  now  she  would  not  yield  herself. 
She  was  forgiving  him,  as  she  must  let  him  know,  only 
in  so  much  as  he  might  deserve  that  forgiveness  in  the 
future,  and  Jamie  understood. 

Claire  had  not  relaxed  her  efforts  to  induce  Edward 
to  allow  Jamie  to  go  to  Paris,  but  she  had  been  quite 
unsuccessful.  She  had  attempted  to  carry  out  a  vigor- 
ous campaign  in  Jamie's  behalf,  but  had  been  unable 
to  arouse  the  slightest  interest  in  any  one.  Aunt  Ade- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  177 

laide  had  promised  to  speak  to  Edward  about  it,  but 
had  never  done  so,  and  when  Claire  had  mentioned  it 
to  him  again,  going  down  into  his  sanctum  one  summer's 
night,  he  had  sat  silent  while  she  had  marshaled  her 
arguments  only  to  ask  a  question  at  the  end  so  irrele- 
vant as  to  convince  her  that  he  had  hardly  heard  her. 

"But,  uncle,  you  have  n't  listened!" 

He  let  himself  down  heavily,  having  been  tilted  back 
in  his  office  chair,  his  cigar  glowing  and  paling  alter- 
nately. 

"Yes,  I  have.  It  was  about  Jamie,  was  n't  it?" 

"Yes,  about  his  going  to  Paris." 

"No,  no!  Nonsense!  Out  of  the  question!"  As  if 
from  the  recesses  of  her  immature  brain  she  had  pro- 
pounded something  too  futile  to  be  worthy  of  a  serious 
answer. 

Only  one  offer  of  help  materialized  and  of  that  she 
could  not  avail  herself.  Kate  had  said  to  her: 

"Mr.  Weston  —  you  know  —  the  young  singing 
teacher  who  lives  across  the  street  —  says  that  Jamie 
ought  to  go  by  all  means.  He  feels  so  strongly  about  it 
that  he  said  he  would  speak  to  Edward  himself  if  I 
wanted  him  to." 

"Do  you  know  him,  Aunt  Kate?"  Claire  asked. 

"Slightly!  He's  very  talented.  Do  you  think  he 
could  help?" 

"I  don't  think  uncle  likes  him,"  Claire  answered. 
"He  does  n't  pay  his  rent  or  something,  does  he?" 

Kate  made  an  impatient  gesture. 


178  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"Your  uncle  never  will  understand  some  things!" 
she  answered. 

"Well,  yes  —  "  replied  Claire  doubtfully;  "but  if  he 
ought  to  pay  it  and  does  n't  —  " 

"He  does  n't  think  of  such  things!  He's  so  preoccu- 
pied. You  should  hear  his  exposition  of  Wagner.  It's 
simply  wonderful.  He's  going  to  be  a  great  man  some 
day.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  hear  him?"  And  Claire 
answered,  politely,  that  she  would. 

This  conversation  took  place  in  Claire's  room  late  one 
afternoon.  From  across  the  way  the  ceaseless  racket  of 
the  tenements  came  to  her  borne  on  occasional  languid 
waves  of  an  atmosphere  impregnated  with  the  odor  of 
warm  soapsuds  and  of  sour  rags.  ■  Claire  suddenly 
drooped  under  a  feeling  of  exhaustion.  In  two  days 
August  would  be  there,  and  she  had  not  yet  had  one 
breath  of  country  air.  From  behind  the  screen  of  tene- 
ments from  the  street  beyond,  soaring  above  the  dull 
roar  of  traffic,  rose  the  long-drawn  cries  of  itinerant 
vendors.  She  looked  at  her  clock.  It  was  half -past  five. 
That  passive  hour  of  late  afternoon  had  arrived,  which 
must  somehow  be  occupied.  The  evening  paper  would 
be  lying  on  the  hat-rack,  and  if  she  went  down  at  once 
she  would  have  time  to  look  at  it,  as  she  often  did, 
folding  it  again  neatly  and  returning  it  to  its  place  after 
she  had  finished  with  it.  As  she  began  to  descend  the 
stairs  she  looked  down  and  saw  Kate  —  who  had  just 
left  her  —  in  the  lower  hall  making  for  the  telephone 
closet,  and,  as  she  lifted  the  paper  from  the  hat-rack, 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  179 

Kate's  muffled  voice  could  be  faintly  heard  in  conver- 
sation with  some  one. 

Claire  went  into  the  drawing-room  and  seated  herself 
in  a  chair  which  stood  by  one  of  the  windows  and  which 
was  hidden  behind  the  keyboard  of  the  grand  piano.  As 
she  read,  the  front  door  opened,  and  at  the  same  mo- 
ment Caroline  came  swiftly  through  from  the  library, 
slid  the  double  doors  to  sharply  after  her,  and  going  to 
the  doorway  leading  to  the  hall  called  imperatively: 

"Edward!" 

Edward's  heavy  step  had  just  begun  to  mount  the 
stairs,  but  he  turned  without  a  word  and  entered  the 
parlor,  and  as  he  did  so  Caroline  pushed  the  door  shut 
with  a  crash  behind  him,  and  cried,  in  a  voice  trembling 
with  a  kind  of  accusative  violence, 

"Edward  Nicholson,  I  want  to  know  what  you  are 
doing  with  my  money  and  the  money  of  the  Nicholson 
family!" 

Claire  realized  immediately  that  she  should  let  them 
know  that  she  was  there,  but  for  the  moment  the  vio- 
lence of  Caroline's  manner  completely  paralyzed  her, 
and  as  she  sat,  momentarily  helpless,  Caroline,  as 
Edward  had  not  answered,  spoke  again,  still  more 
aggressively,  and  yet  —  too  —  poised  on  the  verge  of 
tears. 

"I  mean  to  know!  What  are  you  doing?  Are  you 
ruining  us?" 

Edward,  white  and  heavy  as  usual,  had  at  first  stood 
motionless  as  if  dazed  by  the  fury  of  her  unexpected 


180  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

attack,  but  now  he  answered  in  his  customary  manner 
to  which  were  added  tones  of  a  quality  either  of  fear  or 
ingratiation, 

"  Why,  Caroline,  what  do  you  mean?" 

Claire,  by  this  time  having  herself  in  hand,  jumped 
up,  made  her  presence  known  with  a  word  of  apology, 
and  started  for  the  door,  but  after  a  moment's  startled 
realization  on  the  part  of  her  uncle  and  aunt,  Caroline 
cried: 

"Stay  where  you  are,  Claire.  This  concerns  you  as 
much  as  anybody.  Edward  Nicholson,  you  know  what 
I  mean!  What  are  you  doing  with  our  money ?" 

"But,  Caroline,  I  don't  know  what  you  mean!" 

Edward  stood  heavy,  stolid,  and  expressionless,  but 
Claire  thought  whiter  than  she  had  ever  seen  him. 

"You  don't?  Listen.  Why  is  the  interest  on  the 
mortgage  on  my  houses  across  the  street  more  than  six 
months  overdue?" 

Edward  hesitated  for  the  fraction  of  a  second,  and 
then  answered,  "I  —  I  don't  know  —  I  —  Roscoe 
attends  to  that ! "  Roscoe  being  an  old  up-state  employe 
at  the  factory. 

"  Roscoe!  He  never  used  to." 

"Well,  I  know,  but  we've  been  so  short-handed 
downtown." 

Caroline  was  plainly  unconvinced. 

"If  he  made  out  the  check,  you'd  have  to  sign  it, 
would  n't  you?  You  have  n't  given  him  a  power  of 
attorney?" 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  181 

"  No,  but  I  have  to  sign  so  many,  I  would  n't  remem- 
ber." 

"  Have  n't  you  had  any  notice  that  it  was  overdue?" 

"No." 

For  a  moment  they  looked  at  each  other  eye  to  eye, 
and  then  Caroline  cried  once  more:  "Edward  Nichol- 
son, I've  got  these  children  to  protect,  and  myself,  and 
I  am  going  to  telephone  Robinson  Elder  that  I  want  to 
see  him  at  once!"  Robinson  Elder  being  the  family 
lawyer. 

"But  that's  nonsense,  Caroline.  I  tell  you  it's  all 
right.  Look  here,  I  'm  going  to  the  factory  to-night  by 
the  night  train  and  I'll  telephone  you  the  first  thing 
in  the  morning  after  I've  seen  Roscoe.  If  he  has  n't 
attended  to  it,  I'll  see  to  it  at  once.  There's  nothing  on 
earth  to  worry  about." 

"  What  time  will  you  telephone?" 

"At  eleven  o'clock." 

"When  will  you  be  back?" 

"The  following  morning." 

"  Very  well ;  I  '11  wait  until  eleven  to-morrow.  But,  let 
me  tell  you,  when  you  get  back  I  intend  to  have  the 
whole  condition  of  the  Nicholson  estate  explained  to 
me." 

"Very  well,"  answered  Edward.  And  he  turned 
slowly  and  carefully  as  if  the  retention  of  his  equilibrium 
was  a  question  of  the  nicest  adjustment,  groped  for  a 
moment  for  the  doorknob,  turned  it,  and  went  out.  He 
headed  for  the  basement  stairs,  but  before  he  was  fairly 


182  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

through  the  doorway,  Caroline  cried  after  him,  as  a 
parting  shot,  "And,  Edward  Nicholson,  I  know  more 
about  you  and  your  private  life  than  you  think  I 
do!" 

To  this  he  did  not  answer,  and  they  heard  the  stairs 
creaking  under  his  heavy  carcass  as  he  descended. 

"What  is  it,  Aunt  Caroline?"  asked  Claire  under  her 
breath.   "Are  you  afraid  he  has  lost  money?" 

"I  don't  know,  but  I'm  afraid,"  Caroline  answered, 
"terribly  afraid.  When  George  comes  in,  tell  him  I  must 
see  him.  Don't  let  him  go  out  again  without  telling  him." 

"Very  well,"  answered  Claire;  "I'll  wait  here  for 
him." 

Caroline,  whose  agitation  was  now  becoming  tearful, 
went  upstairs,  and  Claire  returned  to  her  chair  by  the 
window  to  wait  for  George's  return.  She  tried  to  read, 
but  could  not. 

The  iron  gate  of  the  basement  shut  cautiously  below, 
and  Edward  Nicholson  emerged  from  the  area  and 
through  the  fading  light  disappeared  in  the  direction  of 
Sixth  Avenue.  This  seemed  strange  to  Claire,  because  in 
looking  at  her  watch  she  saw  that  it  was  nearly  seven, 
the  hour  for  dinner.  Maggie's  gong  sounded  and  still 
Claire  sat  waiting,  but  George  did  not  come,  Jamie 
hustled  in,  Kate  returned  a  little  later,  and  presently, 
Caroline,  Jamie,  and  Kate  descending,  she  joined  them 
at  table. 

"Where's  Mr.  Nicholson,  Maggie?"  Caroline  asked. 

"Oh,  he  said  you  were  n't  to  wait.  He  had  some  busi- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  183 

ness  to  attend  to  and  might  n't  be  back.  He's  going  to 
the  factory  to-night." 

"I  did  n't  hear  him  packing  his  bag,"  remarked  Caro- 
line in  some  surprise. 

"He  went  without  his  bag,"  Claire  said. 

This  mysterious  behavior  on  Edward's  part  seemed 
to  Caroline  and  Claire  fraught  with  an  inexplicable  and 
yet  disturbing  significance,  the  idea  of  Edward's  going 
to  the  factory  without  his  bag  seemed  so  utterly  beyond 
the  bounds  of  possibility;  and  timid  and  uncertain,  with 
that  sheltered,  feminine  timidity  most  women  are  bur- 
dened with,  they  waited  anxiously  for  the  arrival  of  the 
shrewd  and  capable  George.  But  George  did  not  come. 
Orville  was  to  have  called  and  taken  Claire  and  Jamie 
to  a  roof -garden,  but  soon  after  Claire  had  gone  upstairs 
Maggie  came  up  with  a  message.  Orville  had  with  many 
apologies  asked  to  be  excused.  Certain  business  emer- 
gencies which  could  not  be  evaded  would  keep  him  oc- 
cupied until  very  late. 

Claire  heard  Jamie  at  the  piano  below  trying  some- 
thing over  and  over,  probably  a  new  composition  of  his 
own,  and  went  down  to  tell  him  that  Orville  would  be 
unable  to  keep  his  engagement.  Jamie  said  he  did  n't 
care;  nor  did  Claire.  That  exhaustion,  which  had  made 
itself  felt  before  dinner,  weighed  on  her  more  heavily 
than  ever,  and  returning  to  her  room  she  undressed  at 
once  and  got  into  bed. 

It  was  not  yet  half -past  eight.  Through  her  open  win- 
dows from  beyond  the  rampart  of  tenements  came  the 


184  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

roar  of  traffic,  and  with  it  the  lights  and  sounds  of  the 
tenements  themselves.  And  yet,  rested  by  the  softness 
of  her  bed  and  the  sense  of  secure  withdrawal  her  room 
afforded  her,  a  feeling  of  tranquillity  and  safety  began 
gradually  to  steal  through  her,  hidden  away  in  the  soft 
darkness  of  her  room,  with  the  tenements  beyond  the 
yards,  beyond  them  the  city,  and  beyond  the  city  the 
seething  world;  and  yet  she  could  not  sleep. 

The  strange,  unaccustomed  notes  of  the  little  reedy 
instrument  which  she  had  heard  once  before,  floated  out 
from  some  window  of  the  tenements,  steering  its  way 
lightly  among  the  discordant  sounds  surrounding  it  like 
some  small  buoyant  boat  floating  among  the  rocks  and 
currents  of  a  turbulent  stream.  How  like  it  sounded  to 
the  piccolo  of  the  Frenchman's  symphony  heard  so  long 
ago!  How  happy  she  had  been  that  day !  Ah,  how  sweet 
life  had  looked  to  her  that  afternoon,  how  sweet!  As  she 
began  to  sink  gradually  to  sleep,  she  was  aware  that 
Jamie  had  come  up  and  had  entered  his  room.  Presently 
she  heard  him  leave  it,  close  his  door,  and  go  downstairs. 
She  waited  for  him  to  come  up  again,  fighting  against 
her  drowsiness,  but  he  did  not  come,  and  by  degrees  the 
thin,  halting  strains  of  the  pipe  and  the  clamor  of  the 
city  died  away. 


CHAPTER  X 

On  coming  down  to  breakfast  the  next  morning  Claire 
found  Kate  already  there.  Caroline  had  just  finished 
and  was  getting  up.  Jamie,  it  seemed,  had  gone  out  the 
night  before,  returned  very  late,  and  had  gone  out 
again  in  the  morning  long  before  breakfast  without 
saying  a  word  to  anybody.  As  for  George,  he  had  not 
been  home  at  all,  nor  had  anything  been  heard  of 
him.  Owing  to  George's  orderly  nature  it  was  con- 
jectured that  he  would  not  stay  away  without  good 
reason,  although  his  failure  to  return  at  a  time  when 
his  presence  was  wanted  caused  Caroline  no  little  con- 
cern; but  Jamie's  action  in  going  out  before  breakfast 
gave  rise  to  immediate  criticism,  it  being  suggested  by 
both  Kate  and  Caroline  that  he  was  taking  advantage 
of  Edward's  absence  to  indulge  his  reprehensible  pro- 
clivities. But  to  this  Claire  would  not  agree,  arguing 
that  the  very  fact  that  he  had  returned  at  all  should 
reassure  them. 

Caroline,  looking  as  if  she  might  have  passed  a  sleep- 
less night,  got  up  and  went  into  the  drawing-room  carry- 
ing the  newspaper  with  her,  saying  that  she  must  see 
George  and  would  telephone  his  office  a  little  later. 

As  she  went,  Kate,  in  a  rather  louder  voice  than  usual, 
said  to  Claire,  "Are  you  doing  anything  this  morning?" 

Claire  replied  in  the  negative. 


186  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"Because if  you're  not,  I'd  like  you  to  help  me  pick 
out  some  materials  for  a  dress  at  Arnold's." 

"Very  well,"  Claire  answered,  glad  of  any  suggestion 
which  might  serve  to  occupy  her;  "what  time?" 

"At  ten,"  Kate  answered,  very  loudly  and  distinctly. 

At  ten,  therefore,  they  started  toward  Fifth  Avenue, 
and,  as  Claire  took  for  granted,  a  bus,  but  when  they 
reached  it,  Kate,  to  her  surprise,  proceeded  up  the 
Avenue  to  Tenth  Street,  and,  turning  into  Tenth  Street, 
began  walking  hurriedly  toward  the  west. 

"But,  Aunt  Kate  — "  Claire  began. 

"Sh-h-h-h,"  Kate  answered,  a  prey  evidently  to  the 
furtive  excitement  of  some  secret  adventure.  "We're 
going  to  Mr.  Weston's!  Don't  you  tell!" 

Claire,  astonished  and  annoyed,  and  yet  piqued,  too, 
by  the  sudden  novelty  of  the  situation,  followed  Kate, 
who  was  walking  ahead  so  rapidly  that  she  could  with 
difficulty  prevent  the  distance  between  them  from  wid- 
ening still  further.  Kate's  intention  was  plainly  to  con- 
tinue to  Sixth  Avenue,  return  down  it  to  Ninth  Street, 
and  approach  Mr.  Weston's  house — which  stood  to  the 
west  of  the  Nicholson's  —  from  that  side,  as  offering 
a  securer  means  of  reaching  it  without  being  seen.  She 
rounded  the  corner  into  Sixth  Avenue  hurriedly,  Claire 
following,  when  with  a  start,  she  turned  back  so  pre- 
cipitately that  a  collision  followed.  Kate  immediately 
sought  refuge  in  a  doorway,  where  Claire  joined  her, 
exclaiming,  "What's  the  matter?" 

Kate  made  a  gesture  toward  the  middle  of  the  street 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  187 

and  Claire  observed  Caroline  crossing  in  the  direction  of 
Jefferson  Market. 

"If  she'd  gone  to  the  butcher's  first  instead  of  over 
there,  she'd  have  caught  us!"  cried  Claire  resentfully, 
her  curiosity  turning  to  annoyance  at  being  forced  into 
a  situation  so  undignified. 

"Never  mind,"  answered  Kate  reassuringly;  "it  will 
be  all  right  as  soon  as  she  gets  in." 

"But  if  she  is  going  to  the  vegetable  man,  he's  on  this 
side!" 

"She  never  goes  to  him  anymore.  She's  going  to 
the  butter-and-eggs  man,  on  the  other  side." 

"I  don't  think  it's  safe." 

"All  right,  then  we'll  go  back  the  way  we  came. 
We've  certainly  time  for  that!"  And  Kate,  leading  the 
way,  they  turned  the  corner  again  and  began  hurrying 
back  through  Tenth  Street  toward  the  Avenue.  At 
this  point  Claire's  sense  of  humor  came  to  her  assistance, 
and  she  purposely  walked  slightly  in  the  rear  in  order  to 
give  way  to  an  irresistible  impulse  to  laugh,  which  she 
did  guardedly  enough  to  prevent  Kate's  hearing  her. 

On  reaching  Ninth  Street  and  the  Avenue,  Kate 
peered  cautiously  around  the  corner  and  finally  hurried 
on  again,  passed  their  own  house,  across  the  way,  with 
averted  face,  and  ran  up  the  steps  to  Mr.  Weston's 
door.  It  was  immediately  opened  for  them  and  they 
were  greeted  by  Mr.  Weston  himself.  Kate  entered 
hurriedly,  followed  by  Claire,  and  the  door  was  shut 
after  them.   Kate,  out  of  breath  and  rather  flustered, 


188  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

presented  Claire,  saying,  "This  is  my  niece,"  where- 
upon Weston,  seizing  Claire's  hand,  made  a  low  obeis- 
ance, said,  "Won't  you  come  in?"  and  led  the  way  into 
the  parlor,  a  long,  narrow  room  sparsely  furnished  with 
a  parlor  "set"  consisting  of  a  sofa,  two  armchairs,  and 
two  small  chairs  all  covered  with  red  plush,  a  small, 
marble-topped  table,  an  upright  piano,  and  two  pic- 
tures, one  a  crayon  portrait  of  Mr.  Weston  in  evening 
dress  and  the  other  a  framed  photograph  of  a  group 
of  pupils  standing  around  a  foreign-looking  gentleman 
with  a  long  beard  who  was  seated  at  a  piano.  A  black 
volume,  marked  "Scrap  Book"  in  white  letters,  rested 
on  the  marble-topped  table. 

Mr.  Weston  looked  as  Claire's  casual  glimpses  of  him 
had  led  her  to  expect  he  would.  He  was  rather  short, 
rather  plump,  had  a  pale,  colorless  skin,  a  thick  blond 
mustache,  prominent,  light  blue  eyes,  thick  blond  hair, 
and  shoulders  liberally  sprinkled  with  dandruff. 

"Now,  let  me  see!"  Mr.  Weston  began  immediately. 
"Perhaps  you'd  like  to  know  a  little  about  myself. 
This  is  a  photograph  of  Professor  Eysen,  of  St.  Louis, 
the  great  vocal  instructor,  with  his  pupils,  taken  at  the 
time  I  was  one  of  them.  That  young  man  on  the  right 
hand  is  me.  This  is  my  portrait,  taken  at  the  time  of 
my  first  public  appearance*,  and  these  are  some  of  my 
press  notices,  very  flattering  too,  printed  in  the  news- 
papers of  various  towns  where  I  taught  in  the  West. 
You  see,  I  always  had  it  in  mind  to  come  East  finally, 
just  as  your  brother  has  it  in  mind  to  go  to  Paris,  as 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  189 

Miss  Nicholson  has  told  me.  Ah !  —  "  At  this  moment 
a  smallish  brown  dog  of  obscure  species  came  bustling 
in  with  an  air  which  seemed  to  say,  "Very  sorry  to  be 
so  late,  but  here  I  am  at  last!"  placed  his  fore-paws  on 
Mr.  Weston's  knee,  and  immediately  received  a  cuff 
which  caused  him  to  disappear  rapidly  under  the  sofa 
on  which  Claire  and  her  aunt  were  sitting. 

"Oh!"  cried  Claire  involuntarily. 

"That's  all  right,"  remarked  Mr.  Weston  with  non- 
chalance. "He's  used  to  it!  Now,  let  me  see!  Perhaps 
you  'd  like  to  read  some  of  these  press  notices,  they  are 
very  —  " 

"My  niece  is  so  anxious  to  hear  your  method  of  in- 
terpreting Wagner,  Mr.  Weston,"  Kate  interrupted. 
"She's  so  fond  of  music!" 

"Well,  you  see,"  Mr.  Weston  went  on  immediately 
as  if  he  had  simply  been  shifted  from  one  track  to  an- 
other without  losing  his  momentum,  "my  idea  is  to 
bring  an  intimate  understanding  of  Wagner  home  to 
everybody.  People  can't  be  expected  to  understand 
Wagner  unless  he  is  explained  to  them  —  because  why? 
Because  he's  way  over  their  heads!  Take  yourself," 
continued  Mr.  Weston,  looking  at  Claire.  "What  do 
you  know  about  Wagner?" 

"Well,  not  very  much,"  answered  Claire  with  a 
mental  reservation  that  she  probably  knew  more  about 
him  than  Mr.  Weston  thought  she  did. 

"Exactly!  And  nobody  can  really  understand  him 
without  an  immense  amount  of  study  and  a  sound 


190  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

musical  education,  unless  they  place  themselves  under 
the  guidance  of  some  one  who  has  already  pierced  the 
veil!" 

"But  might  they  not  like  and  appreciate  him  even 
without  understanding  him  to  the  utmost?"  Claire 
asked. 

Mr.  Weston's  lips  were  parted  to  go  on  with  his  thesis, 
and  a  slight  expression  of  annoyance  revealed  itself  at 
this  interruption;  but  Kate  immediately  answered: 

"That  is  obvious,  but  what  Mr.  Weston  is  talking 
about  is  the  appreciation  which  comes  with  knowledge, 
not  the  indiscriminate  and  faulty  tastes  of  ignorance!" 

"Exactly!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Weston.  "And  in  ex- 
actly—" 

"Your  own  words,"  added  Kate  with  a  rather  .co- 
quettish smile.   "You  see,  my  memory  is  a  good  one!" 

"Exactly!"  said  Mr.  Weston  again.  "My  idea  is  to 
spread  the  appreciation  of  Wagner  through  knowledge. 
There  you  have  it.  Appreciation  through  knowledge!" 

He  stopped  and  looked  at  Kate.  "Do  you  know, 
those  three  words  ought  to  be  the  motto  of  our  —  of  my 
—  life.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"They  embrace  everything,"  Kate  answered. 

"Exactly!  And  now  I  will  give  you  an  idea  of  my 
method!" 

Mr.  Weston  laid  the  cigarette  which  he  had  been 
smoking  on  the  edge  of  the  piano,  where  numerous  other 
cigarettes  had  scorched  it,  and  lifted  his  hands  above 
the  keyboard.   He  poised  them  as  if  about  to  pounce 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  191 

upon  the  keys,  then  lowered  them  and  looked  at  Kate 
and  Claire,  who  were  still  sitting  on  the  sofa,  with  a 
glance  which  was  meant  to  be  quick  and  searching. 
Kate  and  Claire  remaining  motionless  under  this 
scrutiny,  he  raised  his  hands  once  more. 

"Act  one.  Siegfried.  Vorspiel!"  and  he  began  to 
play,  accompanying  himself  with  a  running  comment  of 
explanation  and  with  an  occasional  outburst  of  song. 
"Motives  sixteen  and  eighteen!  The  double  basses, 
louder  and  louder!"  Crash!  "The  cave!  Mime  the 
dwarf.  Motives  eighty-six,  seven,  and  five.  Enter 
Siegfried!  The  horn!"  Mr.  Weston  here  began  to 
sing.  "Motives  six  and  three.  'Cellos  and  horns,  six- 
eight  rhythm.  Wotan  the  wanderer.  Note  chro- 
matics!" Bang,  "Tremolos.  Motives  eight  and  eight- 
een. Siegfried  forges  sword.  Sword  and  fire  motive. 
Da  de  da  de  dah !  Forge  motive.  Ding  dang  ding  dang ! " 
Mr.  Weston  was  singing  again.  "  The  sword  is  finished ! " 
Crash!  "He  cleaves  the  anvil!"  Prestissimo,  Fortis- 
simo, Crash,  Bang,  Bang! 

Mr.  Weston  stopped. 

"You  see,"  he  explained,  "I  am  only  giving  you  a 
sketchy  outline  of  my  method.  I  intend  to  familiarize 
my  pupils  with  all  the  Wagnerian  motives,  each  of 
which  will  have  a  number,  so  that  when  I  call  it  out, 
no  matter  what  it  is,  they  will  be  on  the  lookout  for  it 
and  be  able  to  identify  it  the  moment  it  appears.  When 
they  become  familiar  with  them  and  understand  their 
significance,  no  matter  how  deep  they  may  be,  the 


192  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

music  will  interpret  itself  as  it  goes  along.  How  do  you 
like  it?" 

"Isn't  it  wonderful!"  Kate  looked  at  Claire,  her 
eyes  suffused  with  emotion.  "Mr.  Weston  has  taught 
me  more  about  Wagner  in  the  few  times  I  have  talked 
with  him  than  I  had  learned  in  my  whole  life  before!" 

But  Claire  did  n't  like  it  at  all.  There  was  nothing  in 
the  least  new  about  what  he  had  been  doing,  and  what 
he  did  was  not  well  done.  He  was,  Claire  thought,  ex- 
tremely noisy  and  extremely  amateurish.  How  strange 
it  was  that  Aunt  Kate  could  n't  see  it  too.  Her  cogita- 
tions were  interrupted  by  another  loud  chord  from  the 
piano. 

"Act  two,"  began  Mr.  Weston.  "Mysterious  Vors- 
piel,  gathering  in  increasing  crescendos!"  Crash! 
Crash!  Crash!  " Curtain  rises.  A  cave  in  forest.  Mo- 
tives nine  and  twelve.  Siegfried  enters.  First  bar  of 
love  motive.  Tremulous  vibrations  of  the  strings. 
He  lies  down.  Violins  take  up  the  theme.  De  da 
de  da  de  dah.  Bird  flutters  above.  Thirds  and  sixths. 
Song  of  bird  — " 

At  this  moment  a  thin,  quavering  howl  issued  from 
beneath  the  sofa.  The  smallish  dog  bad  begun  to  be 
affected  by  the  music.  Mr.  Weston  paid  no  attention 
at  first,  and  encouraged  probably  by  this  fact  the  dog 
proceeded  to  execute  a  creditable  series  of  vocal  gym- 
nastics increasing  in  range  and  energy  so  rapidly  that 
Mr.  Weston  at  last  stopped  abruptly,  to  Claire's  relief, 
with  irritation  written  plainly  on  his  features,  and  dis- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  193 

lodged  the  dog,  which  ran  out  of  the  room.  Claire 
thought  the  incident  rather  ludicrous,  but  it  seemed  to 
produce  in  Kate  and  Mr.  Weston  no  emotion  other  than 
that  of  annoyance.  "Clearly,"  she  thought,  "neither  of 
them  has  the  least  sense  of  humor." 

Weston  now  resumed  his  expository  harangue,  in- 
creasing its  noise  and  energy  until  the  culmination  was 
reached  in  the  love  scene  between  Siegfried  and  Brunn- 
hilde,  which  Claire  thought  he  delivered  too  pointedly 
at  Kate.  Claire  watched  her  painfully.  As  Weston's 
dramatic  delivery  increased  toward  the  finale,  her  som- 
ber eyes  seemed  to  blaze  with  emotion.  "She  is  in  love 
with  him!  How  strange!"  thought  Claire.  It  seemed 
impossible  that  a  Nicholson  could  become  enamoured 
of  such  a  type  as  that  which  the  fat  charlatan  who  sat 
on  the  piano-stool  before  her  represented,  and  yet 
Claire  was  sure  of  it.  "Yes,  she  is  in  love  with  him!" 
she  repeated.  What  could  her  aunt  see  in  him?  He 
had  no  social  attributes  whatever;  none  of  the  jovial 
charm  which  might  be  reasonably  expected  of  such  an 
adventurer,  and  no  attractions  either  of  manner  or  per- 
son, and  yet  Aunt  Kate  was,  without  doubt,  infatuated. 

When  the  time  came  for  them  to  go,  Claire  did  so 
with  relief.  Kate  insisted  on  going  west  to  Sixth  Avenue, 
north  to  Tenth  Street,  through  Tenth  Street  to  the 
Avenue,  and  so  home,  but  this  precaution  availed  them 
nothing,  for  when  they  let  themselves  in,  Caroline  was 
standing  in  the  drawing-room  doorway,  large  and  erect, 
with  an  angry  flash  in  her  sharp  eyes. 


194  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"Well!"  she  demanded  ominously,  "did  you  have  a 
pleasant  call?" 

Kate  went  gray. 

"I  saw  you!"  Caroline  went  on.  "I  saw  you  before 
you  saw  me,  on  Sixth  Avenue.  I  knew  you  were  up  to 
something,  so  I  watched  you  from  the  vegetable  man's. 
Claire !  Go  upstairs ! " 

Claire  went  slowly  upstairs,  while  at  a  gesture  Kate 
followed  Caroline  into  the  drawing-room.  Caroline  shut 
the  door,  but  Claire  could  hear  her  loud,  angry  voice 
lashing  Kate,  whose  responses  were  at  first  too  low  to 
be  distinguished,  but  presently,  under  Caroline's  taunts, 
they  grew  louder,  and  even  to  Claire's  room  there  as- 
cended the  clash  of  furious  retorts  and  accusations. 
After  a  time  the  drawing-room  door  opened  and  some 
one  ascended  the  stairs.  It  was  Kate.  As  she  came  up, 
with  one  hand  holding  a  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  she 
was  sobbing  restrainedly,  with  an  effort  at  concealment, 
in  tones  the  quality  of  which  indicated  half  wretched- 
ness and  half  anger.  When  she  wished  it  to,  Caroline's 
tongue  could  scarify.  As  Kate  went  into  her  room,  her 
door  slammed  viciously,  and  then  all  was  silent;  but 
soon  other  steps  were  heard  ascending,  and  presently 
Caroline,  reaching  Claire's  door,  came  in,  closing  it 
after  her,  and  as  she  turned  so  that  the  light  from  the 
windows  fell  on  her,  Claire  saw  again  that  look  of 
age,  those  indications  of  disintegration  which  she  had 
noticed  once  before,  and  in  addition  an  air  of  fatigue, 
of  worry,   of  weakness  almost  foreign  to   Caroline's 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  195 

character.  But  still  abrupt,  still  purposeful,  Caroline 
demanded: 

"What  were  you  doing  there?" 

"Aunt  Kate  took  me  to  call  on  Mr.  Weston." 

"Had  you  been  there  before?" 

"No,  of  course  not,  Aunt  Caroline!" 

"Why  'of  course'?  You  seem  to  be  full  of  tricks 
lately!" 

"It  wasn't  a  trick!  I  didn't  know  we  were  going 
there  until  after  we'd  started!" 

"Well,  Kate  did  say  that  for  you!  What's  he 
like?" 

Claire  hesitated,  and  then,  deeming  that  reservations 
under  the  circumstances  could  serve  no  good  purpose, 
answered,  "Oh,  aunt,  he's  awful!" 

"Is  he?"  asked  Caroline  with  a  startled  look. 

*  *  Awful !  So  common !  Is  Aunt  Kate  really  in  love  with 
him?" 

"How  do  I  know!  The  silly  fool!  She's  almost  old 
enough  to  be  his  mother!"  And  suddenly  Caroline 
sank  down  on  the  bed  and  began  wringing  her  hands  in 
a  startling  agony  of  abandonment,  crying,  "What  are 
we  coming  to?  That's  what  I'd  like  to  know!  What  is 
the  matter  with  us?  What's  wrong  with  us?  All  going 
to  the  devil!" 

"Did  Uncle  Edward  telephone?" 

"No.  He  was  lying  —  I  felt  it  —  just  as  everybody 
else  seems  to  be!" 

"And  George?" 


196  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"I  telephoned  him,  but  he  was  out.  I  left  word  for 
him  to  come  up  as  soon  as  he  got  my  message." 

A  knock  sounded,  and  in  response  to  Claire's  answer, 
George  himself  entered,  looking  preoccupied. 

"What  were  you  doing  last  night?"  Caroline  de- 
manded. 

"Doing!  Working,  of  course!" 

"Working!  All  night?" 

"Pretty  nearly.  I  was  with  Orville  and  stayed  all 
night  there.  Things  have  been  panicky  on  the  Exchange 
for  a  week.  A  lot  of  people  have  got  smashed.  Where's 
uncle?   I've  been  trying  to  get  hold  of  him." 

"He  went  to  the  factory  last  night." 

"Went  to  the  factory  last  night?"  cried  George  in 
amazement.  "  What  on  earth  did  he  do  that  for?  Is  he 
crazy?" 

"  Why  should  n't  he  go?  "  returned  Caroline  shrewdly. 
"How  does  it  affect  him?   He  does  n't  speculate!" 

"Of  course  he  speculates!"  replied  George.  "Every- 
body speculates!" 

"With  whose  money,  then?" 

"With  his  own,  I  suppose!" 

"George,"  said  Caroline  solemnly,  "I  have  tele- 
phoned for  Robinson  Elder!" 

"Why?  What's  the  matter?" 

"George,  the  lawyers  for  the  people  who  hold  the 
mortgage  on  my  houses  —  and,  mind  you,  I  put  the 
mortgage  on  at  Edward's  advice  only  two  years  ago  »*- 
telephoned  me  yesterday  to  know  why  the  interest  had 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  197 

not  been  paid.   It  is  nearly  six  months  overdue.   They 
said  that  they  had  written  me  about  it  on  three  separate 


occasions 


"Did  n't  you  do  anything  when  you  got  the  letters?" 
asked  George. 

"I  never  got  them!" 

"Never  got  them !  That 's  funny ! "  exclaimed  George 
reflectively. 

"Yes,  it's  very  funny!  Especially  as  your  uncle  always 
sees  the  morning  mail  first!" 

"Good  Lord,  Aunt  Caroline!"  said  George,  starting. 
"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Why  was  he  so  late  with  the  last  factory  divi- 
dend?" Caroline  asked.  "I  asked  him,  and  thought 
then  that  he  looked  very  queer.  George,  we've  got 
to  do  something  or  we  may  all  find  ourselves  facing 


rum 


"Of  course  we've  got  to  do  something  —  although  as 
far  as  I'm  concerned  I'm  out  of  it." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Oh,  I  sold  my  interest  in  the  factory  nearly  a  year 
ago,"  replied  George,  not  without  a  note  of  satisfaction 
in  his  voice.   "I  wanted  the  money." 

"George  Nicholson,  did  you  suspect  anything?" 

"Now,  look  here,  Aunt  Caroline!"  cried  George  in- 
dignantly. "That's  a  little  too  much,  if  — " 

"I'm  sorry,  George,"  Caroline  acknowledged  hastily, 
"I  did  n't  mean  that.   But  you  must  help  us!" 

"Of  course  I'll  help! "  He  paced  to  and  fro  for  a  mo- 


198  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

ment  or  two.  "  Did  uncle  know  that  you  had  heard  that 
the  interest  had  n't  been  paid?  " 

"Yes,  I  told  him." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  said  that  Roscoe  should  have  attended  to  it." 

"Roscoe!"  cried  George.   "A  likely  story!" 

"He  promised  to  speak  to  Roscoe  about  it  this  morn- 
ing and  call  me  up  from  the  factory  at  eleven,  and  when 
he  did  n't,  I  telephoned  Robinson  Elder." 

"You  did  just  right,  too!  When  will  he  be  here?" 

"He  could  n't  tell  exactly.  Sometime  during  the 
afternoon." 

"Everybody's  rushed  to  death,"  answered  George. 
"The  main  thing  is  to  get  hold  of  Uncle  Edward  and 
have  Elder  put  the  screws  on  him.  He  won't  tell  you 
anything." 

The  gong  sounded  and  they  went  down  to  luncheon. 

"You  don't  know  where  Jamie  is,  of  course,"  Caroline 
observed  as  they  were  rising  from  the  table. 

"No,"  answered  George.   "Why?" 

"He  went  out  before  breakfast  and  we  have  n't  seen 
him  since." 

George  disappeared  into  the  telephone  closet,  imme- 
diately after  luncheon,  joining  Caroline  and  Claire  in  the 
drawing-room  a  moment  later.  Kate  had  not  left  her 
room  since  her  interview  with  Caroline  earlier  in  the  day. 

"I  just  telephoned  the  office,"  George  announced. 
"Jamie  hasn't  been  there  at  all  to-day.  On  the  ram- 
page most  likely.  The  damned  little  jackass!" 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  199 

"  But  where  does  he  get  it,  George?  "  Caroline  asked, 
"  now  that  prohibition 's  in  force." 

"That's  easy,"  George  answered. 

"We  ought  to  find  him!"  put  in  Claire. 

"Findhiml  How  are  you  going  to  find  him?  He  may 
be  anywhere  between  the  Battery  and  Harlem.  Don't 
worry,  though.  He  won't  get  lost,  worse  luck,"  George 
went  on  vindictively.  "He'll  come  home  all  right,  and 
when  he  does,  I'm  going  to  thrash  him!" 

"You  shall  not,  George!"  Claire  cried.  "We've  tried 
scolding,  and  you  see  how  much  good  it  does.  If  that's 
the  only  thing  We  can  think  of,  we  'd  better  do  nothing. 
Threats  and  upbraidings  only  make  him  worse.  If  any- 
body must  speak  to  him,  let  me,  and  in  the  meantime 
let's  try  being  kind  to  him  so  that  he'll  know  that  we're 
sorry  for  him." 

George  went  into  the  hall,  took  his  hat  from  the  rack, 
and  came  back  again,  saying:  "All  right!  I  know  what 
will  happen.  We  jump  on  Jamie  and  it  does  n't  do  any 
good;  Claire's  perfectly  right;  but  Claire  will  try  per- 
suasion and  that  won't  do  any  good  either.  The  only 
thing  that  would  help  him  would  be  to  put  him  in  a  sani- 
tarium where  he  can't  get  it  or  send  him  to  a  cure. 
Well,  we  won't  do  either,  until  it's  too  late.  Nobody 
ever  does!" 

George  turned  toward  the  door  and  came  back  once 
more. 

"But  the  main  thing  just  now  is  Uncle  Edward! 
Jamie  can  wait.   When  Elder  gets  here,  telephone  me 


200  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

and  I'll  come  right  up  if  I  possibly  can.  You've  got  to 
do  something  and  not  lose  any  time  about  it.  When  is 
uncle  coming  back?" 

"To-morrow  morning,  he  said." 

"Well,  we've  got  to  have  things  ready,  and  as  soon 
as  he  gets  here,  have  it  out  with  him!"  And  George, 
looking  at  his  watch,  darted  out  of  the  house. 

The  front  door  had  just  banged  to  after  the  departing 
George,  when  Annie,  the  chambermaid,  hurried  down- 
stairs and  stopped  at  the  drawing-room,  saying,  "He's 
in  his  room,  Miss  Nicholson!" 

"Who?"  Caroline  demanded. 

"Mr.  Jamie,  ma'am.   He's  lying  on  his  bed." 

"On  his  bed!"  cried  Caroline.  "How  long  has  he 
been  in?  Tell  him  to  come  down  and  get  his  luncheon." 

"He 's  sick,  ma'am,  I  think,"  Annie  answered  uneasily. 

Caroline  rose  quickly  and,  followed  by  Claire,  went 
upstairs.  Jamie  was  lying  on  his  bed,  fully  dressed,  the 
counterpane  dirtied  and  blackened  by  his  shoes,  either 
asleep  or  insensible.  Caroline,  seizing  his  coat-sleeve, 
shook  him  sturdily  without  rousing  him  out  of  his  deep 
lethargy.  "Jamie!  Jamie!"  she  called  again  and  again 
without  result.  Claire,  too,  tried,  unsuccessfully,  to 
rouse  him.  He  lay  apparently  in  a  condition  of  coma  so 
profound  that  it  frightened  them. 

"You'd  better  telephone  the  doctor,  Claire,"  Caroline 
said  at  last.  "Send  Annie  up  and  I '11  get  him  into  bed." 

Claire  ran  downstairs  with  a  beating  heart,  and  tele- 
phoned the  family  doctor,  luckily  finding  him  in.    He 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  201 

lived  close  at  hand,  and  she  waited  for  him,  opening  the 
door  when  he  appeared  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps.  As 
he  entered,  an  oldish  man,  strong-shouldered  and  ruddy, 
with  grayish  curling  beard  and  mustache,  he  brought 
with  him  an  odor  of  tweed  clothing  and  tobacco,  and 
that  invulnerable  air  which  makes  one  say  of  some  doc- 
tors, "Surely,  this  man  is  immortal." 

"Hello!"  he  said.   "Anybody  sick?" 

He  was  puffing  a  little,  and  Claire  felt  one  of  her 
hands  enveloped  in  a  large,  warm  pressure  as  he  looked 
at  her  with  his  cheerful,  twinkling  eyes. 

"Yes,  it 's  Jamie,"  Claire  answered.  She  had  not  gone 
into  details  over  the  telephone  and  did  not  wish  to  do  so 
now.  "Aunt  Caroline  said  that  you  were  please  to  go 
right  up." 

"All  right!  Let's  see  —  two  flights,  is  n't  it?" 

The  doctor  looked  hesitatingly  at  the  ascent  before 
him,  and  then,  with  sudden  resolution,  grasped  the  ban- 
isters, and,  puffing  more  heavily  than  before,  began  to 
mount  the  stairs.  Claire  went  into  the  drawing-room 
and  waited,  and  as  she  stood  by  the  window,  looking  out 
into  the  street,  she  thought  of  something  Mallette  had 
said  to  her  during  one  of  his  calls.  They  had  been  talk- 
ing of  Jamie,  and  he  had  said,  "  The  main  thing  is,  don't 
let  life  bear  down  on  you  too  heavily.  It  will  if  you  give 
it  the  chance!" 

That  sadness,  that  atmosphere  of  melancholy,  of  res- 
ignation, which  comes  sometimes  with  the  approach  of 
evening,  seemed  to  fill  the  street,  as  if  the  city,  inert, 


202  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

nerveless,  had  surrendered  itself  to  the  contemplation 
of  the  complicated  mysteries  and  miseries  of  life,  and 
for  a  moment  Claire's  vigorous  youthf ulness  sank  a  little 
under  the  spell  of  its  vague  depression. 

She  heard  the  doctor  coming  down  the  stairs,  causing 
them  to  groan  under  his  weight,  and  going  into  the  hall 
she  led  him  into  the  drawing-room. 

"How  is  he,  doctor?" 

"He's  all  right,  or  will  be  by  to-morrow." 

"What  are  we  to  do  with  him?" 

"Eh?  Tell  him  to  behave  himself!" 

"As  if  we  had  n't  done  that  already!" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  he  answered.  He  began  twirling 
his  mustache  and  then  said  suddenly,  "Why  don't  you 
shut  him  up?" 

"Oh,  doctor!" 

"Well,  there  you  are!  The  trouble  with  cases  like 
Jamie's  is  that  people  will  insist  on  treating  them  as 
free  agents  when  they're  not.  How  long  has  he  been 
doing  it?" 

"We  don't  know." 

"Much  longer  than  you  imagine,  probably!"  And 
looking  at  her  he  seemed  to  be  arrested  by  something  he 
saw  in  her.  All  at  once  he  had  realized  that  this  child, 
whom  he  had  known  so  long,  was  a  child  no  longer. 
That  she  had  already  bloomed,  under  his  accustomed 
eye,  into  the  full,  unblemished  splendor  of  perfect 
youth,  and  that  already  she  was  beginning  to  feel  the 
inescapable  contact  of  the  eroding  surfaces  of  life. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  203 

The  doctor  put  his  hand  to  his  mustache  once  more, 
this  time  almost  in  confusion,  finally  saying,  "I'll  tell 
you  what  I '11  do.  I'll  try  to  think  of  something!"  And 
buttoning  his  coat  he  hastily  went  out. 

Claire  took  a  book  and  went  up  to  her  room,  Particolor 
following  her.  She  undid  her  dress,  put  on  a  thin  negli- 
gee, and  sat  down.  It  was  very  warm,  but  the  room  was 
pleasantly  darkened  by  the  tilted  slats  of  the  jalousies. 
She  glanced  down.  Particolor  was  looking  at  her  with  his 
limpid  eyes,  asking,  with  soft,  suppliant  undulations  of 
his  silky  draperies,  to  be  taken  up.  She  lifted  him  into 
her  lap  and  began  to  read,  attempting  to  throw  off,  for 
the  moment,  the  pressing  problems  which  harassed  her. 
She  sat  restless  but  resolute,  until  the  lengthening  shad- 
ows without  warned  her  that  the  afternoon  was  nearing 
its  end,  and  getting  up  she  began  to  dress.  She  had  for- 
gotten that  it  was  Friday  and  her  afternoon  at  home, 
and,  intending  to  go  for  a  walk  before  dinner,  was  stand- 
ing in  front  of  her  mirror  about  to  adjust  her  hat,  when 
Maggie  knocked  at  the  door  announcing  that  Mr.  Mal- 
lette  was  in  the  drawing-room. 


CHAPTER  XI 

Maggie,  with  the  bib  of  her  white  apron  pinned  tightly 
over  her  excessive  bosom,  and  with  a  white  cap,  worn 
only  on  Claire's  afternoons  at  home,  fastened  too  far 
forward  on  her  rather  untidy  reddish  hair,  had  set  the 
tea-tray  down  on  the  small  table  with  a  bump,  and 
Claire  was  pouring  tea  for  Mallette  while  he  watched 
her  fine,  well-shaped  hands  and  her  white  wrists. 

The  house  was  quiet.  The  room  was  filled  with  the 
soft,  waning  light  of  late  afternoon.  Claire  was  glad 
that  Mallette  had  come,  and  while  she  had  no  intention 
of  making  a  confidant  of  him  —  even  of  Jamie's  latest 
dereliction,  although  she  had  previously  talked  with  him 
of  others  —  she  felt  grateful  to  him  for  his  timely  ar- 
rival which  might  help  her  for  the  moment  to  forget  the 
questions  which  vexed  her.  Mallette,  on  his  part,  was 
tasting  once  more  the  flavor  of  things  he  had  known  so 
well  at  home;  the  tea  things,  the  furniture,  solid  and 
old-fashioned,  the  sensation  of  sitting  in  a  private  house 
once  again  —  of ,  in  a  measure,  the  kind  he  had  known 
before  —  with  this  young  girl.  It  seemed  delicious  to 
him,  and  drew  back,  crowding  into  his  mind,  old  mem- 
ories which  now  he  did  not  try  to  banish,  and  which 
brought  into  his  face  an  expression  which  caused  Claire 
to  say: 

"You  look  as  if  you  were  thinking  of  things  which  are 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  205 

far,  far  away ! "  And  Mallette,  unconscious  of  the  irony 
of  his  answer,  replied: 

"Yes,  I  was  thinking  of  home." 

"Home?"  repeated  Claire  with  a  purpose. 

"Yes,"  answered  Mallette.  "And  England." 

"Since  you  told  us  about  yourself,  Jamie  and  I  have 
talked  so  much  about  it,"  said  Claire.  "We  don't  agree, 
Mr.  Mallette.  Jamie  thinks  your  way  was  the  only  one, 
but  I  am  not  so  sure." 

She  found  that  she  could  say  this  without  fear  that 
he  might  think  her  intrusive. 

"I  could  see  no  other,"  Mallette  answered. 

"But  the  whole  of  life  was  before  you!  It  was  as  if 
you  had  two  roads  to  choose  from,  one  you  knew  well 
which  was  smooth  and  perfect,  the  other  obscure  and 
narrow." 

"The  same  parallel  occurred  to  me!"  Mallette  re- 
plied, "and  it  seemed  to  me  that  that  smooth  and  per- 
fect road  was  built  for  me  by  the  toil  and  sweat  of  all 
those  who  have  been  ground  under  the  pressure  of  our 
industrial  system."  He  hesitated,  as  if  reluctant  to  go 
on  with  the  subject,  and  then  added:  "You  see,  my 
father  put  the  choice  squarely  before  me.  Suppose, 
for  instance,  that  my  eyes  had  not  been  opened  until 
after  I  had  become  the  head  of  Mallette's.  I  would 
have  gone  on  then  carrying  out  my  plans  for  the  welfare 
of  my  workers  and  I  should  not  have  hesitated  to  live 
myself  as  I  had  been  used  to  living,  not  perhaps  as  my 
father  had  lived,  but  well  enough  for  any  one,  but  that 


206  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

chance  was  not  allowed  me.  He  said,  'Take  your 
choice.  Go  on  with  Mallette's  as  we  have  in  the  past, 
or  give  it  up!'  There  was  no  alternative!  Wouldn't 
you  have  done  as  I  did?" 

"Perhaps. so  —  in  fact  I  suppose  I  —  no,  I  should  n't 
have  been  strong  enough!"    Claire  finally  decided. 

"You  mustn't  think  I  don't  think  it  was  splendid  of 
you.  Only  nobody  seems  to  bother  much  about  such 
things;  I  mean  about  people  being  poor  and  unhappy! 
I  never  have.  But  if  the  result  of  the  war  is  to  bring 
these  questions  up  for  solution,  as  it  has  so  many  others, 
perhaps  your  father  will  begin  to  think  about  solving 
them  too,  and  send  for  you  to  help  him.  You  would  go, 
of  course." 

"Yes,  I  would  go,"  Mallette  answered.  "These  ques- 
tions are  coming  up  for  solution  everywhere  and  in 
England  are  receiving  earnest  attention,  but  we  have 
certain  pretty  stubborn  types  in  England  and  my 
father  is  one  of  them." 

"But  let  me  see,"  said  Claire.  "If  you  had  stayed, 
even  under  your  father's  conditions,  could  n't  you  have 
done  something?  Is  n't  it  as  if  you,  who  might  have  done 
something,  even  if  ever  so  little,  had  left  your  workers  in 
the  hands  of  people  who  will  never  do  anything  at  all?" 

Mallette  made  a  gesture  half  explanatory  and  half  of 
protest. 

"My  father  thought  of  all  that  —  that  I  might  try  to 
help  them  indirectly.  The  previsions  he  suggested  were 
written  out.  He  took  pains  to  guard  against  anything 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  207 

of  that  sort  —  help  outside  the  works  I  suppose  you 
mean  —  because  he  did  n't  believe  in  it  —  thought  that 
the  more  you  gave  them  the  more  they'd  want,  and  that 
philanthropic  work  of  any  kind  would  increase  strikes 
and  dissatisfaction  generally.  But  what  difference  can 
it  make,  after  all,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned?  I  will  be 
the  same.  I  am  sure  no  worse.  I  shall  not  be  able  to 
afford  limousines  like  Mr.  Orville  or  perhaps  do  some 
of  the  things  I  used  to  do,  but  there  is  only  one  way 
by  which  lack  of  money  may  prove  a  drawback,  and 
that  is  if  it  affects  human  relations  detrimentally,  and 
it  has  always  seemed  to  me  that  money  serves  to  dis- 
locate them  more  often  than  the  lack  of  it.  I  mean,  of 
course,  a  moderate  lack  of  it.   Not  poverty!" 

Claire  hesitated  and  then  determined  to  ask  him  a 
question  she  had  often  asked  herself. 

"But  being  an  actor?  Will  you  always  be  one?" 
Mallette  laughed.  "Certainly  not.  But  you  have  no 
idea  how  ^difficult  it  is  for  people  brought  up  as  you 
and  I  to  keep  body  and  soul  together  if  they  find  them- 
selves all  at  once  thrown  on  their  own  resources  with- 
out help  from  any  one.  I  hope  you  will  never  know 
what  it  means.  I  was  at  the  end  of  my  tether  when 
I  was  offered  a  small  part  in  London.  That  was  just 
before  the  war.  When  war  came  I  volunteered  at 
once,  but  my  slight  experience  on  the  stage  gave  me 
my  chance  here  when  I  received  my  discharge.  But  as 
for  spending  my  life  as  an  actor!"  He  made  a  gesture 
of  distaste.  "Well,  hardly!"  He  paused  and  got  up. 


208  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"And  now  I  must  say  good-bye." 

"Good-bye?"  repeated  Claire  in  astonishment. 

"Yes,  my  company  is  going  on  tour.  We  leave  to- 
morrow." 

"Oh ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  I 'm  sorry !  When  will  you  be 
back?" 

"Not  until  winter,  I  think.  We  go  to  the  Pacific  coast." 

Claire  did  not  speak  for  a  moment,  and  then  noticing 
that  her  hand  still  lay  in  his,  she  flushed  and  withdrew 
it.  Mallette  too  stood  silent,  seemed  about  to  speak, 
checked  himself,  and  again  held  out  his  hand. 

"Good-bye,  Miss  Nicholson!" 

"Good-bye!"  Claire  answered,  giving  him  her  hand 
once  more,  and  he  was  gone. 

She  went  to  the  window  and  watched  him  until  he 
had  disappeared  beyond  the  range  of  her  vision.  She 
had  seen  a  good  deal  of  him  since  she  had  first  asked 
him  to  call,  and  had  grown  to  look  forward  to  his  visits, 
but  there  had  always  remained  in  their  relationship,  for 
her  at  least,  an  element  of  uncertainty  as  to  her  judg- 
ment of  him. 

As  he  passed  out  of  sight  while  she  stood  looking  after 
him,  some  slight  essence  seemed  to  pass  from  her,  but 
what  its  nature  was  she  could  not  tell.  He  attracted 
her  and  yet  puzzled  her;  pleased  her  and  yet  aroused  in 
her,  at  times,  feelings  almost  of  distrust,  so  alien,  so 
baffling  was  he  in  his  philosophy  of  life. 

"How  strange  he  is!"  she  thought.  "How  strange 
and  different!" 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  209 

George  called  up  about  dinner-time,  and  finding  that 
Elder  the  lawyer  had  telephoned  that  it  would  be  im- 
possible for  him  to  reach  Ninth  Street  until  some  time 
during  the  evening,  probably  about  nine,  decided  to 
dine  down-town,  finish  some  pressing  work,  and  reach 
home  at  that  hour  too.  Jamie  was  still  in  bed.  Kate  had 
left  the  house  late  in  the  afternoon,  leaving  word  that 
she  would  be  dining  out,  and  Caroline  was  lying  down, 
having  instructed  Annie  that  she  would  have  some  tea 
and  toast  in  her  room  and  rest  there  until  Mr.  Elder's 
arrival.  Not  one  word  had  been  received  from  Edward. 

Claire,  left  alone,  therefore,  became  a  prey  to  a  rest- 
lessness so  acute  that  she  welcomed  with  quick  relief 
the  news  which  Maggie  brought  her,  a  little  before 
eight,  that  Helena  wished  to  speak  to  her,  and  ran  down 
quickly  to  the  closet  under  the  stairs. 

"Yes,  Helena!"  she  called,  and  Helena's  voice  came 
sweet  and  thin  over  the  wire: 

"Oh,  Claire,  did  you  know  that  there  were  only  two 
more  nights  of  'The  Rainbow'?" 

This  was  the  comedy  in  which  Mallette  was  playing. 

"Yes,  he  called  here  this  afternoon." 

There  was  a  slight  pause,  and  Helena  asked,  "Have 
you  seen  him  in  it?" 

"No,"  Claire  answered,  "I  have  n't." 

"Would  you  like  to  go  to-night?" 

This  time  Claire  hesitated.  She  was  not  sure  whether 
she  wanted  to  or  not,  much  as  she  would  have  liked  to 
go  somewhere. 


210  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"Because,"  Helena  went  on,  "I  have  tickets  for  two. 
You  need  n't  be  afraid  that  your  illusions  will  be 
shattered  because  he's  really  quite  good!" 

Claire  decided  that  she  would  go,  and  said  so. 

"Very  well,"  Helena  answered.  "Mamma  is  ill  and 
says  I  may  use  the  brougham,  so  I  will  call  for  you  at 
eight." 

Helena,  however,  did  not  arrive  until  quarter  past, 
because  her  coachman,  instead  of  going  straight  down 
the  Avenue,  took  another  route. 

The  aspect  of  the  Avenue  changes  with  each  hour  of 
the  day.  In  the  morning  the  vacant  spaces  of  its  long 
perspective  fill  slowly.  Ladies  appear  on  foot,  in  mo- 
tors, and  in  occasional  carriages.  Children  are  seen  with 
nurses  and  maids.  Occasional  processions  of  hobblede- 
hoys, inmates  of  young  ladies'  boarding-schools  in 
charge  of  a  teacher  or  two,  march  perfunctorily  around 
corners  and  disappear.  There  are  decent  intervals  be- 
tween the  vehicles  in  the  roadway,  and  between  the 
pedestrians  on  the  pavements,  but  as  the  day  advances 
the  congestion  increases.  The  volume  of  vehicular  traf- 
fic swells  steadily.  Into  this  single  great,  unobstructed 
artery,  from  all  the  cross-streets  pour  the  trucks  and 
wagons  of  commerce.  On  the  sidewalks  the  complexion 
of  the  crowd  changes,  a  brisk  multitude,  active  and 
businesslike,  swarms,  swallowing  up  the  ladies  and  the 
children,  and  in  turn  being  swallowed  up  at  the  noon 
hour  by  the  multitudes  of  foreign  workers  who  pour  out 
into  the  street  from  the  colossal  buildings  close  at  hand. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  211 

At  one,  these  latter  swarms  melt  away,  but  others  are 
already  pouring  in  to  take  their  places,  of  still  another 
character;  shoppers,  idlers,  prostitutes,  and  loafers,  and 
already  the  motor-trucks  and  wagons  of  the  morning 
are  being  crowded  out  by  vehicles  of  pleasure  and  for 
human  transportation;  taxi-cabs,  private  cars  of  every 
pattern,  and  a  constantly  increasing  procession  of  the 
green  omnibuses  of  the  Avenue.  The  roadway  between 
the  curbs,  as  the  afternoon  advances,  becomes  a  mass 
of  moving  or  stopping  motors,  while  from  the  east  and 
west  processions  of  people,  thousands  and  still  thou- 
sands, pour  into  the  channel  of  the  street  until,  at  its 
daily  culmination  at  six  o'clock,  one  is  jammed  in  a 
torrent  of  every  imaginable  type,  condition,  and  degree; 
deafening  noises  clash  against  one's  ear-drums,  the  air 
is  loaded  with  dust,  the  odors  of  motor  exhausts,  and 
the  exhalations  of  people,  and  jostled  in  the  currents  of 
this  limitless  mob,  one  gives  way  resentfully  to  reflec- 
tions on  the  senseless  prolificacy  of  the  human  species. 
But  by  six-thirty  the  flood  has  receded  perceptibly,  at 
seven  it  has  diminished  by  half,  at  seven-thirty  it  has 
vanished,  the  shops  are  closed,  and  but  for  a  sprinkling 
of  individuals  moving  on  here  and  there  to  evening 
engagements,  the  Avenue  is  empty. 

Helena's  coachman,  therefore,  had  a  broad  and  un- 
obstructed route  to  traverse,  and  yet,  no  sooner  had 
Helena  slammed  the  brougham's  door,  than  he  turned 
into  Madison  Avenue,  dodging  trolley  cars  until  he 
reached  Forty-Second,  where  he  became  entangled  in 


212  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

a  web  of  traffic,  swerved  over  to  Park,  thence  to  Fourth, 
which  in  many  places  was  being  repaired,  always  with 
his  knees  bent  at  a  proper  angle  and  properly  apart, 
with  his  back  hollowed  slightly  and  his  smart  hat  tilted 
to  exactly  the  right  degree  over  his  aquiline  and  yet 
vacant  features,  as  if  his  task  was  being  accomplished 
with  the  greatest  possible  skill,  knowledge,  foresight, 
and  6clat.  Finally  he  turned  west  and,  crossing  the 
Avenue,  stopped  at  the  number  Helena  had  given  him 
—  but  in  Tenth  Street  instead  of  Ninth.  Helena,  in- 
dolent and  yet  irritated,  sent  him  on  again,  and  they 
arrived  at  the  Nicholsons'  fifteen  minutes  late  to  find 
Claire  on  the  sidewalk  waiting  to  open  the  door.  As  she 
did  so,  Helena's  voice,  sweet  but  petulant,  issued  from 
the  interior  of  the  brougham. 

"Tell  the  fool  to  go  up  the  Avenue,  will  you,  dear  — 
to  Forty-Eighth  Street  —  and  then  west?  The  theater 
is  the  Halcyon.  I  told  him  fifteen  minutes  ago,  but  he 
has  probably  forgotten." 

Claire  delivered  the  message.  The  coachman  touched 
his  hat  smartly  while  his  vacant  features  seemed  to  say,' 
"Don't  worry.  I  am  equal  to  anything!"  started  to 
turn  toward  Sixth  Avenue,  was  corrected  by  Claire  from 
the  window,  finally  reached  Fifth  Avenue,  and,  passing 
straight  uptown  between  two  rows  of  illuminated  globes, 
over  an  expanse  of  dark  and  shining  asphalt,  succeeded 
in  turning  west,  at  Forty-Eighth  Street.  Here,  after  a 
short  distance,  they  found  themselves  in  the  evening 
tides  of  humanity  which  seemed  by  a  concerted  plan  to 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  213 

have  deserted  the  Avenue  in  order  to  jostle  one  another 
on  Broadway. 

The  brougham  stopped  and  they  entered  the  theater. 
Stepping  within  from  the  glare  and  noisy  activities  of 
that  quarter,  they  found  themselves  in  an  interior  small, 
luxurious,  and  well-padded.  A  few  people  here  and 
there  were  settling  themselves  on  the  noiseless  up- 
holstery, but  the  majority  of  the  audience  was  already 
seated.  Helena's  chairs  were  in  the  center  of  the  house 
near  the  front,  and  they  had  hardly  arranged  them- 
selves in  them  when,  without  preliminary  notice,  the 
curtain  ascended  noiselessly,  exposing  the  brightly 
lighted  picture  of  the  first  act. 

The  play,  written  by  a  celebrated  English  play- 
wright, and  performed  by  a  company  of  English  players, 
dealt  with  the  problem  of  human  happiness,  and  in  it 
the  author  proved  the  impossibility  of  its  attainment 
with  such  wistful  humor,  such  moving  half-poignant 
gayety,  and  with  such  deep  draughts  of  perfumed  senti- 
mentality that  the  audience  each  night  left  the  theater 
with  the  conviction  that  not  only  had  he  proved  his  con- 
tention that  there  was  no  such  thing  as  happiness,  but 
that,  after  all,  it  was  not  such  a  bad  thing  for  humanity 
that  there  was  not,  especially  while  there  was  an  author 
living  who  could  offer  such  supplies  of  tender  sadness  in 
place  of  it. 

Claire's  eyes  during  the  evening  were  often  wet,  al- 
though she  was  aware  that  the  play  contained  certain 
sophistries  which  would  not  bear  analysis  in  the  morn- 


214  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

ing,  but  she  was  surprised  to  notice  that  Helena  wept 
copiously. 

Mallette  played  his  part  surprisingly  well,  and  what 
Claire  liked  best  about  his  performance  was  his  resolute 
effort  to  minimize  as  much  as  possible  the  author's  tend- 
ency toward  a  rather  cloying  sentimentality.  Many  of 
his  lines  were  loaded  with  it,  but  while  certain  members 
of  the  cast  did  not  hesitate  to  overemphasize  them, 
Mallette,  when  they  fell  to  him,  did  his  best  to  counter- 
act them  by  a  studied  practicality  of  delivery.  The  part 
which  fell  to  his  portrayal,  that  of  a  manly,  honest,  and 
resolute  young  man,  seemed  by  his  rendition  of  it  to  im- 
prove on  the  author's  conception  of  what  was  manly, 
honest,  and  resolute.  Claire  was  glad  that  she  had 
come. 

On  emerging  from  the  theater,  Helena,  who  had  seen 
the  brougham  waiting  on  the  other  side  of  the  street, 
crossed  over  to  it,  and  as  they  reached  it  and  were  open- 
ing the  door,  the  coachman,  touching  his  hat  with  un- 
diminished smartness,  asked  briskly: 

"Shall  I  wait  here  the  same  as  usual,  Miss?" 

Helena  got  in  hastily  without  answering,  but  as 
Claire  seated  herself  beside  her,  she  exclaimed  as  if  the 
idea  had  all  at  once  presented  itself  to  her,  "Let's  wait 
and  see  him  come  out!" 

"Who?"  asked  Claire,  not  comprehending. 

"Mr.  Mallette.  The  stage  entrance  is  just  opposite ! " 

"Indeed,  I  shall  not!"  cried  Claire  indignantly.  "It 
would  be  too  silly!" 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  215 

"But  he  is  going  away  to-morrow,  Claire,  please!" 
And  as  Helena  grasped  Claire's  hand  with  one  of  hers 
Claire  felt  that  it  was  cold  as  ice. 

"No,  I  shall  not,  Helena."  And  she  looked  at  her 
closely.  She  had  been  forced  to  play  a  role  of  this  kind 
earlier  in  the  day  with  Aunt  Kate  and  did  not  intend  to 
do  so  again.  "You've  waited  here  before,  haven't 
you?" 

Helena  produced  her  handkerchief.  "Yes,"  she  an- 
swered in  a  low  voice,  putting  it  to  her  eyes. 

"Does  he  know?"  Claire  demanded. 

"Of  course  not!"  Helena  answered  in  a  muffled  voice, 
and  then  from  the  movement  of  her  shoulders  Claire 
saw  that  she  was  crying  silently,  but  convulsively. 

"I'm  going  home!"  cried  Claire  angrily,  and  putting 
her  head  out  of  the  window  she  called,  "Ninth  Street, 
please!"  to  the  coachman.  The  coachman  touched  his 
hat  smartly,  with  an  air  which  seemed  to  say,  "Don't 
worry,  I'm  very  competent,"  turned  the  horse,  which 
was  facing  the  Avenue,  around  the  other  way,  started 
off,  and  immediately  became  entangled  in  the  traffic  of 
Broadway.  The  incapacity  of  Helena's  coachman  has 
a  bearing  on  later  events.  Helena,  with  a  little  shriek  of 
nervous  laughter,  cried,  "He's  going  the  wrong  way 
again!"  —  and  proceeded  immediately  to  give  way  to 
a  mild  attack  of  hysterics,  laughing  and  crying  together. 
Claire  seized  her  by  the  shoulders  and  began  to  shake  her 
so  vigorously  that  Helena  cried  presently,  "Oh,  Claire, 
please,  you're  hurting  me!" 


216  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"Then  stop  it!"  answered  Claire  grimly.  "Will  you 
stop?" 

"Please,  please,  Claire!" 

"Will  you  stop!" 

Helena's  laughter  was  getting  the  better  of  her  tears, 
and  presently  with  a  final  shake  Claire  released  her, 
sank  back  into  her  own  corner,  and  neither  spoke  until 
Helena  said,  in  what  had  become  now  her  natural 
voice: 

"Are  you  angry  with  me?" 

"Suppose  he  had  seen  you  waiting  there  for  him!" 

"He  could  n't  have,  Claire  —  he  could  n't  —  I  was 
very  careful." 

"What  did  you  do  it  for?  Are  you  in  love  with  him? " 
Claire  asked  almost  brutally,  and  at  this  question 
Helena  shrank  into  her  corner  and  raised  her  handker- 
chief once  more  to  her  eyes. 

"Helena,  will  you  stop!"  Claire  cried,  more  incensed 
then  ever.  "  You  're  just  playing  with  your  emotions  the 
way  you  and  a  lot  of  other  girls  like  you  love  to  do  and 
are  doing  all  the  time!" 

"I  —  I  can't  help  it!"  sobbed  Helena. 

"Then  don't  ask  me  to  go  out  with  you  again!"  re- 
turned Claire,  and  she  sank  back  in  silence  into  her  cor- 
ner of  the  brougham  which,  rocking  over  the  car  tracks, 
the  inequalities  of  the  wretched  pavements,  and  the 
temporary  boardings  which  covered  the  subway  excava- 
tions, moved  precariously  southward,  through  a  pande- 
monium of  metropolitan  noises. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  217 

The  coachman  turned  into  Sixth  Avenue  at  the  inter- 
section of  that  street  with  Broadway,  and  gradually 
leaving  behind  the  boisterous  night  life  of  the  city,  the 
brougham,  lurching  now  and  then  on  the  tracks  of  the 
trolley  cars,  passed  on  under  the  iron  structure  of  the 
Elevated  road,  the  well-trained,  high-stepping  hackney, 
pounding  on  unmindful  of  the  roar  of  the  trains  which 
passed  at  intervals  above  them.  Claire  and  Helena  sat 
in  silence,  Claire,  at  least,  occupied  with  her  thoughts, 
until  the  swaying  of  the  brougham  as  it  left  the  tracks 
told  her  that  they  were  turning  into  Ninth  Street. 

While  they  were  yet  some  distance  from  the  Nichol- 
son house,  Claire,  glancing  idly  ahead,  saw  the  heavy 
bulk  of  Edward  Nicholson  pass  under  the  radiance  of 
a  street-lamp  and  melt  into  the  surrounding  gloom. 
She  leaned  forward  and  looked  again,  and  as  they  ap- 
proached the  house  she  dimly  saw  him  disappear  into 
the  cavernous  opening  of  the  basement  doorway,  and 
heard  the  faint  clangor  of  the  iron  door. 

The  brougham  stopped,  and,  exchanging  good-nights 
with  Helena,  civil  on  both  sides,  but  not  excessively  so, 
she  got  out  and  the  brougham  moved  off.  She  turned  at 
once  to  mount  the  steps  leading  to  the  front  door,  and 
as  she  did  so,  the  down-drawn  buff  shades  of  the  win- 
dows of  Edward  Nicholson's  basement  sanctum  became 
luminous  by  the  sudden  kindling  of  a  light  within. 

Claire  let  herself  in  at  the  front  door.  Gas-jets,  turned 
low,  burned  in  the  hall  and  in  the  drawing-room.  She 
went  up  to  her  room,  but  before  going  into  it  she  softly 


218  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

opened  Jamie's  door.  The  light  from  the  hall  illuminated 
his  room  sufficiently  for  her  to  see  that  he  was  still  in 
bed,  and,  stooping  over,  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  was 
sleeping  deeply  and  naturally.  She  went  into  her  own 
room,  closed  her  door  and  turned  up  the  gas.  Particolor, 
who  was  lying  curled  up  on  the  sofa,  greeted  her  with 
a  welcoming  wave  of  his  plumed  tail,  but  did  no  more, 
and  standing  before  her  glass,  she  began  to  remove  her 
wrap,  thinking  of  Helena's  hysteria  with  a  strange  feel- 
ing of  dissatisfaction  and  unrest.  Presently  she  turned 
the  gas  down  again,  and  going  to  one  of  the  open  win- 
dows, stood  looking  out.  The  tenements,  except  for  an 
occasional  distant  window,  were  dark,  but  from  below 
voices  rose  up  to  her,  and  leaning  out,  she  could  tell, 
from  the  beams  of  liglit  streaming  out  on  to  the  flagging 
and  the  grass-plot  of  the  yard,  that  the  dining-room  was 
brightly  illuminated.  At  the  same  time  the  sound  of 
voices  rose  again,  and  among  them  she  could  hear  dis- 
tinctly those  of  Caroline  and  George.  She  hesitated  for 
a  moment,  and  then,  opening  her  door,  descended  to  the 
first  floor.  The  lights  in  the  hall  and  in  the  drawing- 
room  burned  at  half  strength,  as  they  had  before.  Be- 
yond, a  gas-jet  in  the  library  chandelier  was  also  lighted. 
And  yet,  although  the  rooms  were  sufficiently  illumi- 
nated to  reveal  each  familiar  interior  plainly,  and  al- 
though she  could  now  hear,  through  the  closed  doors 
leading  to  the  dining-room,  the  muffled  sound  of  voices, 
a  nameless  dread  suddenly  clutched  her,  the  chill  of  an 
unformulated  and  yet  terrifying  apprehension,  and  with 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  219 

a  sudden  inexplicable  accession  of  panic  she  almost  ran 
through  the  drawing-room  and  library  and  pushed  open 
one  of  the  sliding  doors  leading  into  the  dining-room. 
Four  people  were  seated  at  the  dining-room  table.  Caro- 
line, George,  a  man  with  a  shock  of  untidy  gray  hair, 
dark  eyes,  and  a  white  mustache,  whom  she  knew  to  be 
Robinson  Elder,  and  a  small,  thin-faced,  middle-aged 
creature  named  Blake,  with  a  bald  head  and  a  promi- 
nent nose.  She  knew  him,  too;  he  was  a  kind  of  head 
clerk  and  assistant  manager  at  the  New  York  office  of 
the  button  works,  an  employee  of  twenty  years'  stand- 
ing. On  hearing  of  Edward's  continued  absence,  George 
had  got  hold  of  him  and  brought  him  along  hoping  to 
get  some  information  from  him  regarding  Edward's 
affairs.  An  ink-well  and  a  piece  of  blotting-paper  stood 
and  lay  before  Robinson  Elder,  who  held  a  pen.  He  had 
been  writing,  and  a  number  of  sheets  of  paper  scrawled 
with  memoranda  littered  the  table.  At  the  sound  made 
by  the  opening  door  all  looked  up  quickly  with  expres- 
sions indicating  that  each  was  sustaining  a  common 
sensation  of  suspense,  but  on  seeing  Claire  these  expres- 
sions changed,  each  showing  in  a  particular  way  that 
each  had  expected  to  behold  some  one  else.  The  two 
men  bowed.  Claire  said  "Good-evening,"  generally, 
closed  the  door  and  advanced  toward  the  table,  and 
at  the  same  moment  Robinson  Elder,  who  had  risen, 
looked  at  his  watch. 

"Half -past  eleven,"  he  said.  "I  don't  think  anything 
further  can  be  done  to-night." 


220  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"But  how  long  must  we  wait  for  my  brother?"  Caro- 
line asked. 

"I  should  not  wait  at  all.  You  should  take  action  at 
once." 

"Have  you  been  waiting  for  Uncle  Edward?"  Claire 
asked  suddenly. 

"We  have  been  doing  everything  we  could  possibly 
think  of  to  find  him,"  answered  Caroline.  "  George  tele- 
phoned to  the  factory  and  they  said  that  he  had  n't  been 
there  at  all." 

"But  he's  downstairs  —  now  —  at  this  moment," 
said  Claire.  "I  saw  him  go  in  the  basement  way  not 
more  than  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  ago,  as  Helena  and 
I  were  driving  up,  and  a  moment  later  I  saw  that  he  had 
lit  the  gas!" 

Why  there  should  have  been  something  of  sinister 
portent  about  this  statement  no  one  could  have  told,  but 
so  it  was:  George  cried,  "What!"  with  a  startled  look, 
Caroline  caught  her  breath  quickly,  Robinson  Elder 
squared  his  shoulders  as  if  poising  himself  to  meet  the 
shock  of  an  antagonist,  and  the  little  clerk,  plainly 
frightened,  exclaimed  in  a  trembling  voice: 

"Mr.  Nicholson  will  never  forgive  me  for  what  I  've  told 
you  to-night,  sir !  It  will  mean  the  loss  of  my  position ! " 

"Both  legally  and  morally  you  were  bound  to  do  what 
you  have  done,"  answered  Elder.  "And  as  for  your  posi- 
tion, after  to-morrow  I  doubt  whether  Mr.  Nicholson 
will  have  anything  to  say  about  it!" 

All  sat  for  a  moment  in  attitudes  of  silent  suspense, 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  221 

when  George  said,  fingering  a  pencil  nervously,  "Well, 
I  suppose  we  may  as  well  have  it  out  with  him ! " 

"Shall  I  go  down,"  said  Elder  almost  solemnly,  "and 
ask  him  to  come  up?" 

Caroline  jumped  up. 

"No,  no!  I  will  go!"  And  she  drew  her  breath  deeply 
once  more.  "Let  me  speak  to  him  first."  And  pushing 
one  of  the  sliding  doors  back  into  its  pocket,  she  went 
out.  The  remaining  four  waited  rigid  and  listening.  They 
heard  her  steps  descend  the  stairs,  heard  the  turn  of  a 
knob,  and  the  slight  creak  of  a  rusty  hinge  as  a  door 
swung  open,  and  then  there  rose,  in  the  silence  of  the 
night,  a  cry  which  froze  the  listeners  with  horror.  A  cry 
which  seemed  by  sheer  force  of  terror  to  rend  its  way 
through  organs  already  paralyzed  by  the  sight  of  some 
blasting  spectacle.  There  was  an  instant's  silence,  and 
then  something  fell  below,  causing  a  slight  tremor  to 
shake  the  floor.  George  and  Elder,  after  a  moment 
of  impotent  consternation,  sprang  up  and  made  hur- 
riedly for  the  basement  stairs.  Claire  rose  and  followed. 
As  they  went  down,  George  turned  and  called  to  her  in 
a  hushed  but  imperative  voice,  "Where's  Blake?  Tell 
him  to  come!" 

Claire  darted  back,  delivered  this  message  to  Blake, 
who  was  still  sitting  at  the  table,  a  picture  of  nervous 
indecision,  and,  returning,  ran  down  the  basement 
stairs.  As  the  interior  of  Edward's  sanctum  came  within 
her  view  she  saw  first  that  the  steady  radiance  of  Ed- 
ward's green-shaded  argand  lamp  illuminated  distinctly, 


222  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

standing  on  Edward's  desk,  a  glass  half-full  of  water, 
and  a  small,  round  pill-box  the  size  of  a  half-dollar,  and 
instantly  that  small  box  grew  big  with  prognostications 
of  evil.  It  explained  to  her  what  she  was  to  see,  and  did 
see.  It  told  her  that  that  huddled  bulk,  lying  distortedly 
in  the  shadow  of  the  desk,  was  the  body  of  Edward 
Nicholson,  dead  by  his  own  hand,  and  as  it  told  her, 
so  had  it  told  her  aunt,  who,  unconscious,  as  if  struck 
by  some  terrific  blow,  breathing  with  what  seemed  like 
appalling  difficulty,  was  being  lifted  from  the  floor  by 
George  and  by  Robinson  Elder. 


CHAPTER  XII 

Had  Helena's  coachman  taken  the  obvious  and  easy 
route  to  Ninth  Street  after  the  theater  —  that  is,  down 
the  Avenue  —  Claire  would  have  reached  the  house 
some  minutes  before  Edward  Nicholson,  and  it  is  prob- 
able that  the  discovery  of  his  body  would  have  fallen  to 
the  lot  of  one  of  the  maids  on  the  following  morning.  It 
is  not  likely  that  any  of  them  would  have  been  seriously 
affected  by  it,  and  the  list  of  Edward  Nicholson's  of- 
fenses might  have  been  considerably  lightened,  but  it 
was  not  to  be.  Fate  had  written  that  Caroline  was  to 
find  him  and  the  cerebral  hemorrhage  resulting  from  the 
shock  killed  her  before  morning. 

The  week  that  followed  seemed  afterwards,  as  Claire 
looked  back  on  it,  a  phantasmagoria  of  horrors  —  super- 
imposed upon  the  natural  grief  which  the  death  of  her 
aunt  and  in  a  lesser  degree  of  her  uncle  gave  rise  to  — 
made  up  of  the  presence  of  those  obnoxious  creatures 
who  live  on  the  necessities  of  death  and  burial,  of  the 
sound  of  the  shuffling  of  feet  slowly  carrying  heavy, 
inert  burdens,  of  an  awful  hush  throughout  the  house, 
of  the  presence  of  flowers  whose  perfumes  had  suddenly 
become  insupportable  to  her;  of  hearses,  funereal  car- 
riages, funeral  ceremonies,  open  graves,  tears,  the  black 
habiliments  of  mourning,  and  the  whole,  to  her,  hideous 


224  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

and  shocking  pageantry  and  paraphernalia  of  death, 
with  added  to  it  the  scandal  of  Edward's  dishonesty 
and  suicide. 

Neither  Claire  nor  George  during  that  first  night  went 
to  bed  at  all.  Jamie  slept  through  it,  and  woke  to  find 
that  during  his  drunken  sleep  both  Edward  and  Caro- 
line had  vanished  into  the  unknown.  Kate,  who  had 
left  word  the  afternoon  before  that  she  was  dining  out, 
had  not  returned,  and  this  fact,  which  under  ordinary 
circumstances  would  have  caused  intense  alarm,  had 
been  unheeded  among  the  tragic  circumstances  of  the 
night;  but  a  telegram  was  handed  in  addressed  to  Caro- 
line an  hour  after  Caroline's  death.  George  opened  it. 
It  was  from  Kate,  dated  at  Boston,  saying  that  she  and 
Mr.  Weston  had  been  married  there  the  evening  before. 
George  immediately  reached  her  by  telephone,  and  the 
new  bridegroom  was  introduced  to  George  and  Jamie 
late  that  afternoon. 

At  this  meeting  Weston  played  an  unimportant  part. 
The  stage  was  held  by  Kate.  The  secret  smouldering 
fires  of  her  nature  kindled  into  a  blaze  of  resentment 
and  wrath  against  the  delinquencies  of  the  departed 
Edward;  but  while  Weston  was  eclipsed  by  Kate's  anger, 
Claire  felt  that  resentment  and  indignation  were  seeth- 
ing in  him,  too,  which  would  at  the  first  opportunity 
reveal  themselves.  And  if  a  rude  awakening  had  come 
to  him  twelve  hours  after  his  wedding  —  if  he  had  mar- 
ried a  woman  much  older  than  himself  in  the  belief  that 
he  was,  by  doing  so,  firmly  allying  himself  with  a  family 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  225 

of  substance  and  position,  only  to  find  himself  horribly 
mistaken  —  one  need  not  wonder. 

For  in  the  track  of  death,  ruin  followed. 

Edward  had  killed  himself,  by  means  of  a  capsule 
containing  cyanide  of  potassium,  simply  because  he  was 
at  the  end  of  his  rope.  Robinson  Elder  began  an  in- 
vestigation into  the  affairs  of  the  Nicholson  family  the 
morning  after  Edward's  death,  and  on  the  morning 
after  the  funeral  a  meeting  was  held  in  the  dining-room 
at  Ninth  Street  at  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weston,  Claire, 
George,  Jamie,  and  Robinson  Elder  were  present.  Elder 
had  made  the  appointment  just  as  Claire,  George,  and 
Jamie  were  finishing  breakfast,  and  had  asked  that  the 
Westons  be  notified  —  that  he  would  be  stopping  at 
Ninth  Street  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  on  his  way  down- 
town. The  Westons  were  at  Mr.  Weston's  rented  house 
across  the  way.  Claire  called  her  aunt  up,  gave  her  the 
message,  and  joined  George  and  Jamie  who  were  loung- 
ing listlessly' about  in  the  drawing-room. 

"Has  he  got  to  be  here,  too!"  Jamie  asked  gloomily, 
referring  to  Weston. 

"Of  course  he  has,  Jamie,"  Claire  answered.  "He's 
Aunt  Kate's  husband!" 

"Well,  for  God's  sake,  tell  him  to  brush  the  dandruff  off 
his  coat  collar,"  said  George,  addressing  Jamie  irritably. 

"Tell  him  yourself!"  Jamie  retorted.  Jamie  was  be- 
ginning to  recover  from  a  condition  of  acute  contrition 
arising  from  the  fact  that  during  all  that  night  of  stress 
and  tragedy  he  had  been  sunk  in  a  drunken  sleep. 


226  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Will  Weston!"  continued  George 
scornfully.  It  had  transpired  that  on  both  Mr.  Weston's 
card  and  Mrs.  Weston's  card  the  name  "Will"  pre- 
ceded that  of  Weston.  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  Will  Weston. 
Of  course  he  wasn't  christened  'Will.'  He  was  chris- 
tened 'William,'  but  he  calls  himself  'Will'  for  the  same 
reason  he  does  n't  keep  his  hair  cut  properly.  Cheap 
fakir!" 

To  Claire's  relief  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Will  Weston  and 
Robinson  Elder  arrived  at  identically  the  same  moment. 
She  had  had  the  dining-room  table  cleared,  and  led  the 
way  to  it  at  once,  as  being  the  most  private  room  on  the 
first  floor. 

George  carefully  closed  the  doors  and  they  seated 
themselves  in  silence,  while  through  the  opened  win- 
dows of  the  rear  the  occasional  sounds  from  the  tene- 
ments floated  in  to  them.  Claire,  wearied  and  depressed, 
shivered  even  in  the  warmth  of  the  summer  morning. 
Opposite  her  sat  Kate,  still  angry  and  sullen;  at  Kate's 
left,  Robinson  Elder;  at  Kate's  right,  Jamie,  quiet  and 
bewildered,  as  if  certain  that  the  whole  affair  would  be 
quite  incomprehensible  to  him.  At  Claire's  left,  George, 
alert  and  capable,  and  at  her  right,  Weston,  obviously 
nursing  his  resentment. 

It  is  probable  that  Robinson  Elder,  through  a  wider 
experience,  greater  age,  and  the  training  of  a  lifetime 
had  acquired  a  more  intense  veneration  for  property 
than  even  that  developed  by  the  acquisitive  instincts  of 
Kate  and  George;  therefore  he  undertook  the  task  be- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  227 

fore  him  of  announcing  the  catastrophe  with  sincere 
reluctance;  ruffling  his  shock  of  gray  hair  more  hope- 
lessly than  ever  he  began,  and  as  he  talked  he  talked  to 
Claire.  It  could  not  be  otherwise:  Claire,  drooping  but 
beautiful,  like  a  tired  rose  amidst  the  duller  physiog- 
nomies around  her. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say,"  said  Elder  with  an  air  of  real, 
apologetic  regret,  "that  your  uncle  has  left  the  affairs 
of  your  family  in  very  bad  shape!" 

"There's  no  use  beating  about  the  bush,  Mr.  Elder," 
Kate  interrupted  explosively.  "Does  that  mean  that 
he  has  ruined  us  completely?" 

"It  looks,"  Elder  went  on,  still  addressing  Claire,  "as 
if  there  would  be  little  or  nothing  left.  Your  uncle  had 
the  unquestioned  control  of  the  property  of  all  the 
members  of  your  family.  There  is  nothing  unusual  in 
this  because  you  will  find  numbers  of  families  in  New 
York  in  which  one  member  takes  entire  financial  charge. 
In  your  uncle's  case  I  am  sorry  to  say  he  proved  un- 
worthy —  "  Elder  hesitated  and  took  the  plunge.  "In 
fact,  I  have  never  seen  a  case  of  more  ruthless  wreckage. 
Your  mother  left  a  small  fortune  in  first-class  negotiable 
securities  —  they  have  disappeared;  your  father  left 
stocks  and  bonds  in  addition  to  his  interest  in  the  works 
—  they  have  disappeared.  Miss  Caroline  invested  por- 
tions of  her  income  from  time  to  time.  These  invest- 
ments have  disappeared.  Your  uncle  converted  every- 
thing he  could  lay  his  hands  on  into  cash,  which  he  paid 
into  his  private  account,  but  what  he  paid  it  out  for  — 


228  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

except  a  small  percentage  of  it  —  we  cannot  tell,  be- 
cause, although  he  continually  drew  large  sums  from 
his  bank,  it  was  in  most  cases  done  by  means  of  checks 
drawn  to  himself.  Who  got  these  thousands  —  these 
hundreds  of  thousands,  we  do  not  know.  It  may  have 
been  speculation,  but  he  left  nothing  —  not  even  an 
accumulation  of  worthless  securities  —  to  show  for  it. 
If  he  speculated  he  probably  did  so  through  some  one 
else.  Latterly  he  resorted  to  forgery.  As  for  the  works, 
he  cleaned  them  out  completely.  How  he  managed  to 
keep  going  as  long  as  he  did  without  arousing  suspicion 
is  a  wonder.  I  repeat,  I  have  never  in  my  entire  ex- 
perience met  with  a  case  of  such  reckless  criminality  — • 
especially  in  the  class  to  which  your  uncle  belonged!" 

Claire  listened  to  this  recital  with  a  sense  of  6hame 
and  of  dishonor,  and  yet  without  conceiving  what  it 
actually  might  mean  to  her.  Her  apprehensions  previ- 
ous to  the  final  catastrophe,  aroused  by  a  conviction 
that  all  was  not  going  well,  dealt  with  the  possible  dis- 
ruption of  family  ties,  but  she  did  not  realize  that  Elder's 
words  might  mean  the  actual  loss  of  every  material  re- 
source. Such  a  possibility  —  that  she  might  not  always 
be  sheltered,  clothed,  and  fed,  without  a  thought  and 
without  an  effort  —  was  beyond  her  present  grasp. 

"I  understand  there  is  a  woman  in  the  case."  This 
was  from  Weston,  who  seemed  to  think  his  opportu- 
nity had  come,  but  George  immediately  returned  sharply 
—  he  had  been  waiting  a  chance  to  show  his  disapproval 
of  Kate's  husband  — 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  229 

"You  do!  Well,  my  sister  is  present,  and  I'd  be 
obliged  to  you  if  you'd  keep  your  mouth  shut!" 

At  this  rudeness  Weston  cast  an  appealing  glance  at 
Kate,  while  Elder  looked  at  Claire  interrogatively. 
Claire,  who  really  scorned  that  kind  of  brotherly  solici- 
tude as  being  out  of  date,  answered  by  saying: 

"Is  that  true,  Mr.  Elder?" 

"It  is,"  replied  Elder,  "and  I  have  already  inter- 
viewed the  lady.  You  will  not  find  the  solution  of  your 
uncle's  ruin  there!" 

"Get  her  under  oath  and  —  "  began  Weston. 

"She's  perfectly  willing  to  swear  to  anything  she 
says,"  answered  Elder. 

"She  says  so  —  "  began  Will  Weston  again. 

"I  can  only  tell  you  what  she  told  me,"  returned 
Elder. 

"I  would  strongly  advise  a  suit  against  her,"  insisted 

wm. 

"And  a  public  scandal!"  remarked  George.  "You 
won't  get  any  of  the  Nicholsons  to  agree  to  that!" 

"I  consider  that  I've  got  something  to  say  about  it," 
Will  retorted.  "I  thought  when  I  married  that  the 
Nicholson  family  amounted  to  something  —  but  they 
turn  out  to  be  a  lot  of  bankrupts." 

"Much  obliged  for  your  frankness,"  George  laughed 
disagreeably,  "only  it  was  n't  necessary.  We  knew 
exactly  what  you  thought,  and  it  serves  you  right  for 
marrying  a  woman  twenty  years  older  than  you  are!" 

"George!"  cried  Claire. 


230  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

And  Kate  exclaimed  angrily.  "This  is  outrageous!" 
—  and  half  rose  from  her  chair  as  if  about  to  leave  the 
room. 

"All  right,"  said  George.  "He's  been  asking  for  it, 
and  he  got  it!" 

After  this  explosion  a  moment  of  silence  ensued, 
broken  presently  by  Claire. 

"And  this  house,  Mr.  Elder,  did  my  uncle  sell  that 
too!"  she  asked  and  this  question  conveyed  the  fact 
that  to  Claire  the  house  stood  as  a  symbol  of  the 
Nicholson  fortunes  —  that  if  it  had  gone  all  was  lost. 

"My  dear  young  lady,  he  did  not  dispose  of  it  — 
probably  because  he  could  n't.  It  was  part  of  the  trust 
established  by  your  grandfather,  but  if  it  becomes  neces- 
sary to  sell  it  in  order  to  pay  the  debts  of  the  estate, 
then  it  must  be  sold." 

"And  you  can't  find  out  who  he  paid  out  all  our 
money  to,  Mr.  Elder  ?  "  asked  Claire. 

"For  the  great  bulk  of  it  we  cannot.  He  was  in- 
terested in  Thwaite  &  Co.,  who  failed  the  other  day. 
That  was  probably  the  last  straw.  The  rest  is  mystery. 
The  largest  amount  that  we  have  found  any  trace  of  to 
any  one  individual  is  the  sum  of  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars  paid  to  your  brother  George  nine  months  ago." 

The  effect  of  this  announcement  was  electrical.  Kate 
stiffened  rigidly  and  bent  an  accusative  glance  at 
George.  Will  Weston  looked  about  him  triumphantly 
as  if  to  say,  "Now  we're  getting  on  the  track  of  some- 
thing!" rubbing  his  hands  gleefully.    Claire,  who  had 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  231 

forgotten  that  George  had  announced  this  fact  both  to 
herself  and  Caroline,  regarded  him  wonderingly,  and 
even  Jamie,  who  had  preserved  a  deferential  silence 
throughout,  seemed  to  think  that  here  was  something 
needing  explanation. 

As  for  George,  he  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  leaned 
back  in  his  chair,  and  with  unruffled  calm  said  nothing. 

Although  no  word  had  been  spoken,  Robinson  Elder, 
by  the  dramatic  possibilites  of  his  revelation,  had 
actually  interrupted  himself;  now  he  went  on: 

"Your  uncle  was  the  sole  executor  of  the  property 
left  you  and  your  brothers  by  your  mother  and  of  your 
interest  in  the  works  left  by  your  father,  but  the  prin- 
cipal of  all  this  property  should  have  been  turned  over 
to  you  when  your  older  brother  reached  the  age  of 
twenty-four.  *  Were  you  acquainted  with  the  provisions 
of  your  father's  and  mother's  wills,  Miss  Nicholson?" 

"  No,  Mr.  Elder,"  Claire  answered.  "  I  never 
thought  of  them." 

\  "And  you?"  and  Robinson  Elder  turned  to  Jamie. 
This  question  seemed  quite  unnecessary  because  every- 
body knew  instinctively  that  Jamie,  too,  would  answer 
in  the  negative  —  which  he  did. 

"  But  you,"  Robinson  Elder  went  on,  addressing  him- 
self to  George,  —  "y°u  knew  the  provisions  of  these 
wills.   How?" 

"I  looked  them  up,"  George  answered  promptly. 

"How  did  you  induce  your  uncle  to  give  you  your 
share?" 


232  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"I  did  n't  induce  him.  I  told  him  I  knew  of  the  wills 
and  he  offered  to." 

"Did  he  say  anything  about  giving  your  sister  and 
your  younger  brother  their  shares?" 

"No.  Neither  did  I,  because  I  thought  it  better  to 
leave  their  shares  for  uncle  to  look  after.  Neither  of 
them  knew  anything  about  business.  I  wanted  mine 
because  I  knew  I  could  double  it  and  treble  it  in  the 
Street.  He  did  n't  say  a  word  to  me  about  Claire's  or 
Jamie's  share!" 

"He  did  to  me,"  Kate  interrupted,  "and  to  my  sister. 
He  called  our  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  settlement 
was  due,  but  said  it  would  be  more  advantageous  to  wait 
a  year  or  so.  He  asked  our  advice.  We  told  him  to  con- 
sult the  children's  interests." 

"Did  he  say  that  he  had  given  or  intended  to  give 
George  his  share? 

"He  did  not." 

Robinson  Elder  turned  again  to  George.  "According 
to  your  uncle's  books,  he  gave  you  the  hundred  thousand 
dollars  in  two  payments,  one  of  sixty  thousand  and  one 
of  forty  thousand.  Is  that  correct?" 

"It  is,"  George  answered. 

"The  first  payment  he  seems  to  have  raised  by  en- 
dorsing over  to  himself  various  checks,  made  payable 
to  the  Nicholson  Company,  and  by  forging  the  name  of 
one  of  the  Nicholson  Company's  largest  customers  to  a 
note  for  the  balance.  That  is,  I  assume  this  from  the 
coincidence  of  dates.    The  second  payment  of  forty 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  233 

thousand  dollars  he  secured  through  a  mortgage.  Did 
your  sister  ever  mention  that  she  had  placed  a  second 
mortgage  on  her  houses  across  the  street,  Mrs. 
Weston?" 

"She  certainly  did  not,  Mr.  Elder.  Some  one  told  me 
some  months  ago  that  they  had  noticed  the  record  of 
a  second  mortgage  on  her  houses,  and  when  I  spoke  to 
her  about  it  she  said  it  was  n't  so.  I  was  sure  they  had 
been  mistaken  and  said  no  more  about  it." 

"Nevertheless,  there  is  a  second  mortgage." 

"Then  he  got  her  signature  by  some  chicanery  —  if 
she  really  signed  it  at  all." 

"The  mortgage  is  genuine,  but  the  forty  thousand 
dollars  was  paid  by  check  by  the  mortgagors  to  the  order 
of  Miss  Caroline  Nicholson.  Your  brother  endorsed  the 
check  over  to  himself  by  means  of  forgery,  and  deposited 
it  in  his  bank.  This  was  on  the  27th  of  last  November  — 
on  the  28th  he  made  his  second  and  last  payment 
(amounting  to  forty  thousand  dollars)  to  George  here." 

"So  that  my  nephew  was  paid  his  inheritance  out  of 
moneys  belonging  to  the  Nicholson  Company  and  my 
sister  —  is  that  it?"  Kate  demanded. 

"George's  inheritance  was  due,  and  when  his  uncle 
offered  it  to  him  he  took  it." 

"And  to  pay  George  he  robbed  the  rest  of  us,"  Kate 
retorted.  "Well,  iGeorge  can  easily  return  it  to  us." 

"And  have  it  gobbled  up  by  the  creditors!"  George 
cried.  "No,  thank  you." 

"It  hasn't  anything  to  do  with  the  creditors!"  re- 


234  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

torted  Kate  angrily.  "Legally  the  money  may  be  yours, 
but  morally  it  belongs  to  all  of  us." 

"If  it  does  n't  belong  to  me  morally,  it  does  n't  be- 
long to  you  morally,"  answered  George. 

"Very  well;  if  you  intend  to  rob  us,  say  so." 

"Look  here,  Aunt  Kate,  you  want  me  to  turn  my  in- 
heritance over  to  be  divided  among  the  Nicholson  heirs 
—  that  is,  yourself,  myself,  Claire,  and  Jamie.  If  I  do 
that,  will  you  turn  your  property  in,  too?  You've  been 
investing  dividends  Uncle  Edward  paid  you  for  years  in 
outside  securities.  How  do  you  know  he  was  n't  selling 
my  mother's  securities  to  do  it?" 

"That's  a  quibble!"  answered  Kate. 

"I  thought  you'd  think  so,"  George  retorted. 

Here  Claire  spoke  again. 

"But  it  seems  to  me  that  if  the  Nicholson  family  owes 
money  through  Uncle  Edward's  acts,  we  must  all  give 
what  we  have  to  pay  it,  must  n't  we,  Mr.  Elder?  Are 
n't  we  in  a  way  responsible  for  him?" 

"Responsible  for  his  dishonesty!"  Kate  cried  before 
Elder  had  an  opportunity  to  answer.  "Did  n't  he  rob 
us  as  well  as  others?  They  '11  never  get  a  cent  from  me ! " 

"Do  you  agree  with  your  wife  there?"  asked  George 
of  Weston. 

"I  do,  most  certainly." 

"I  thought  you  would,"  remarked  George  ironically. 

Kate  turned  sullenly  to  Elder.  "Is  there  anything 
more?" 

"Nothing;  except  the  thing  that  I  really  came  for  — 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  235 

and  that  is  to  suggest  that  an  application  for  a  receiver 
for  the  Nicholson  Company  be  made  immediately  — 
there  is  really  nothing  else  to  be  done.  If  you  say  so, 
I  will  have  the  papers  made  out." 

Kate  got  up,  Weston  following  her  example.  "Very 
well,"  she  answered.  "You  know  best.  But,  George 
Nicholson,  I'm  really  surprised  and  shocked  at  what 
I  've  just  heard.  I  consider  that  you  've  taken  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  that  doesn't  belong  to  you,  and  — 
well,  you'll  hear  from  me  about  it  later!" 

"All  right,"  returned  George  as  Kate,  with  Weston, 
disappeared  into  the  library.  "Sue,  if  you  want  to  — 
it  won't  do  any  good." 

Elder  had  risen  and,  shaking  hands  with  Claire,  was 
following  the  Westons  toward  the  front  door. 

"Going  downtown,  Mr.  Elder?"  George  called.  "All 
right,  I'll  go  with  you."  And  he  was  about  to  follow 
him  when  Claire  called  him  back. 

In  this  tangled  skein  of  death,  dishonor,  insolvency, 
and  selfish  interests,  she  sought  vaguely  for  some  thread 
which  might  unravel  it,  and  grasping  a  sleeve  of 
George's  coat  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  trying  to  find  words 
for  matters  she  so  little  understood: 

"Does  it  mean,  George,  that  our  failure  and  uncle's 
wrongful  use  of  money  that  was  n't  his,  will  cause  others 
to  fail,  too?" 

"It  will  cause  them  to  lose  money  —  I  don't  know 
whether  they'll  fail  or  not.  We  can't  help  that. 
Why?" 


236  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"But  we  must  make  good,  if  we  can,  George.  We 
must!" 

"That's  nonsense.  You  don't  understand.  People 
have  to  look  out  for  themselves.  Anyway,  I  can't  go 
into  it  now.  Elder's  waiting  for  me." 

George  and  Robinson  Elder  had  gone  away  together, 
following  the  departure  of  the  Westons.  Maggie  en- 
tered the  dining-room  to  discuss  some  matter  of  domes- 
tic necessity.  Claire  had  taken  up  the  reins  of  govern- 
ment almost  without  a  thought  amid  the  preoccupation 
of  more  important  things,  but  now  a  sudden  distaste 
assailed  her,  and  answering  her  as  briefly  as  she  could, 
she  rose  from  the  table.  As  she  passed  into  the  hall  she 
saw  that  Jamie  was  seating  himself  at  the  piano,  and 
she  thought,  "If  Jamie  begins  to  play  his  waltz  now, 
I  shall  go  mad."  She  ran  upstairs  past  the  rooms  of 
Caroline  and  Edward,  where  it  seemed  to  her  that  potent 
but  invisible  entities  still  dwelt,  into  her  own,  slamming 
the  door  after  her.  A  future  of  blank  emptiness  seemed 
to  spread  itself  before  her.  Her  old  life  was  at  an  end  — 
and  beaten  down,  discouraged  by  Elder's  revelations 
and  by  the  sordid  quarrels  of  George  and  Kate,  she 
thought  that  she  did  not  much  care  —  she  would  not 
mind  if  it  were  swept  away  competely;  but  when  she 
tried  to  imagine  what  might  take  its  place,  she  could  not 
do  so. 

She  went  to  one  of  her  windows  and  looked  out.  Out 
of  all  the  buildings  that  hemmed  her  in  and  from  the 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  237 

streets  beyond,  the  odors  and  sounds  of  the  city  rose 
into  the  palpitating  haze  of  an  August  day.  She  glanced 
across  at  the  opposite  tenement  and  was  arrested  by  the 
blank  look  of  the  windows  of  one  of  the  small  flats.  The 
rooms,  where  late  one  night  she  had  seen  the  tired  wo- 
man walking  with  her  child,  were  bare  and  empty  — 
the  sash  was  raised  and  she  could  look  past  the  torn  and 
dirty  shades  into  its  interior.  The  flat  consisted  of  two 
rooms,  a  very  small  one  containing  a  diminutive  gas 
cooking-stove  and  a  larger  one  in  which  the  family  had 
lived  —  both  were  empty.  Torn  scraps  of  paper  lay  on 
the  floor,  a  few  rags,  a  broken  dish,  a  twisted  shoe. 
Its  occupants,  leaving  their  litter  behind  them,  had 
moved  away  taking  their  pitiful  possessions  with  them. 
But  where,  what  possible  object  could  such  wretches 
have  in  moving?  For  something  told  her  that  the 
condition  of  the  poor  does  not  change,  that  life  with 
them  is  always  at  a  dead  level  of  dirt,  crowded  quar- 
ters, and  destitution,  and  that  if  they  had  gone  it  was 
because  they  were  forced  to  do  so,  and  she  pictured 
to  herself  the  somber  pilgrimage  of  this  family  — 
typical  of  thousands  —  dragging  their  tattered  pro- 
perty, a  bed  or  two,  a  dirty  mattress,  broken  chairs, 
a  grimy  and  revolting  array  of  decaying  domestic 
utensils,  a  few  tattered  rags  of  clothing,  a  battered 
trunk,  things  that  were  worthless  except  that  they 
had  not  the  means  to  replace  them,  from  tenement  to 
tenement,  in  an  endless  hegira  without  purpose  and 
without  hope. 


238  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

And  as  she  looked  into  those  empty  rooms  she  thought 
of  her  own,  and  imagined  it,  too,  empty  and  desolate. 
It  would  not  look  so  very  different  with  the  carpet  up, 
with  the  pictures  gone,  leaving  slight  stains  on  the  plain 
surface  of  the  painted  walls,  and  with  the  absence  of 
curtains  revealing  the  evidences  of  slight  disintegration 
progressing  in  the  mouldings  of  the  doors  and  windows. 
Denuded  of  everything,  the  bed,  the  rugs,  the  chairs, 
every  evidence  of  occupancy,  it,  too,  would  present  a 
picture  not  unlike  that  of  the  sordid  tenement  across  the 
way.  And  soon  it  would  be  like  that,  and  the  whole 
house.  In  the  drawing-room,  the  red  damask  curtains, 
the  painting  by  Neolini,  the  cabinet  with  its  familiar 
objects,  the  bronze  maiden  holding  two  cherries  be- 
tween her  lips,  the  piano,  the  engraved  glass  globes 
which  shaded  the  gas-jets,  the  fender,  and  the  tea-table 
on  which  Maggie  had  for  years  bumped  down  the  heavy 
tea-tray  of  Georgian  silver.  In  the  dining-room  the 
carved,  staring  yellow  oak  furniture  upholstered  with 
dark  green  leather,  the  dinner  service,  the  goblets,  the 
Turkish  rug.  In  every  room  a  multiplicity  of  objects, 
which  had  communed  with  her  in  silent  friendship  since 
she  was  a  child,  would  pass  away — and  with  them  would 
pass  the  very  essence  of  home,  would  pass  those  individ- 
ual and  delicious  smells  peculiar  to  this  house  in  all  the 
world  —  of  the  house  itself  as  you  entered  it;  of  Jamie's 
rooms  lightly  pungent  with  the  smoke  of  vanished  cigar- 
ettes; of  the  familiar  perfumes  of  her  own  —  the  scent  of 
the  down  pillows  of  her  sofa,  the  aroma  rising  from  the 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  239 

drawers  of  her  bureau  as  she  opened  them.  Would  pass 
the  intimate  and  familiar  daily  sensations,  the  feel  of  the 
polished  handrail  of  the  stairway  whose  every  curve 
and  conformation  her  hand  knew  so  well,  the  softness  of 
the  stair  carpets,  of  her  rocking-chair  by  the  window 
where  with  Particolor  she  was  wont  to  sit  so  often,  the 
delicious  softness  of  her  bed,  the  sofa  by  the  window  in 
the  drawing-room.  Would  pass  the  sounds,  the  distant 
roll  of  the  dumb-waiter,  the  closing  of  the  front  door, 
the  click  of  her  shoes  on  the  black-and-white  marble  of 
the  hall,  the  faint  roar  of  running  water,  voices  here  and 
there  rising  from  above  and  below,  and  strained  of  all 
except  a  plaintive  and  minor  quality  the  notes  of  the 
piano  rising  under  Jamie's  touch  from  the  drawing-room 
stealing  through  the  panels  of  her  closed  door.  Would 
pass  that  delicious,  intimate,  and  solitary  life  she  led  at 
intervals  behind  that  door  shut  away  with  her  secret 
thoughts,  with  her  rosy  dreams  of  what  life  might  hold 
for  her,  and  which  another  room  would  never  know. 
Would  pass  the  intimate  machinery  of  existence,  would 
pass  the  servants,  would  pass  herself,  Jamie,  George, 
the  lingering  shades  of  the  departed,  would  pass  all  the 
concrete  expressions,  the  accumulated,  the  stored-up 
evidences  of  that  sentient  record  called  life. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Some  one  knocked  at  the  door.  Claire  had  seated  herself 
at  the  window  under  the  weight  of  a  sudden  exhaustion 
which  had  weakened  her  limbs.  She  knew  it  was  Jamie, 
and  while  she  did  not  want  to  see  him  —  did  not  at  that 
moment,  drooping  under  the  lassitude  of  the  torrid  after- 
noon, want  to  see  any  one  —  she  did  not  move  or  speak. 
The  door  opened  and  Jamie  came  in,  subdued  and  list- 
less, his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  without  removing 
them  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  a  chair,  looking  vaguely 
about  as  if  for  something,  some  subject  wherewith  to 
break  the  spell  of  the  oppressive  quiet  of  the  house  and 
of  the  sultry  summer  afternoon.   Finally  he  said: 

"Perhaps  before  long  now  I  shall  be  able  to  go." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Claire  faintly. 

"To  Paris !  Now  that  —  that  — " 

"But  we  have  n't  any  money,  Jamie!" 

"Have  n't  any  money ! "  Jamie  replied,  incredulously. 

"We  shan't  have  any.  Everything  will  have  to  go  to 
pay  our  debts!" 

"But  we'll  have  something"  Jamie  insisted. 

"Nothing  —  Mr.  Elder  said  so.  You  heard  him." 

Jamie  seemed  struck  dumb;  but  presently  he  said, 
"George  has  a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  Aunt 
Kate  has  some." 

"But  it  is  n't  ours,  Jamie." 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  241 

"I  always  thought  there  was  something  queer  about 
him,"  Jamie  said  reflectively  —  "always.  Didn't 
you?" 

"Not  until  you  told  me  about  that  woman,  and  after 
that  when  I  thought  Aunt  Caroline  was  worried  about 
something." 

"Well,  here  we  are  left  in  the  lurch  by  our  forebears.  I 
told  you  the  liabilities  were  n't  all  on  our  side.  What 
are  we  going  to  do?" 

"I'm  going  to  ask  you  that,"  Claire  answered.  She 
felt  simultaneously  irritated  and  exhausted.  "I  can 
think  for  myself,  but  I  can't  for  you.  What  are  you 
going  to  do?  You've  always  had  a  place  to  come  to 
where  people  would  shield  you,  but  you  won't  any 
longer,  because  I'm  the  only  one  now,  and  I  can't, 
I'm  tired." 

Jamie  sat  quite  still  looking  straight  in  front  of  him, 
miserably. 

"You  see!  You  don't  answer!" 

"I  don't  answer,"  replied  Jamie,  "because  I've 
broken  my  promise  to  you  so  often.  Don't  bother  about 
me,  Claire.  I'm  not  worth  it,  I'm  afraid." 

Would  pass,  herself,  George,  Jamie,  the  lingering 
shades  of  the  departed,  the  accumulated  expressions  of 
her  life,  and  of  them  all  she  and  Jamie  would  cling  to- 
gether —  it  must  be  so  —  she  would  not  wish  it  other- 
wise, and  yet  the  weight  of  his  weakness  seemed  press- 
ing down  on  her  with  unbearable  inertia. 


242  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"It's  too  hard,"  she  heard  herself  say,  "you  make  it 
too  — "  And  she  slipped  away  into  unconsciousness. 

The  torrid  light  of  afternoon  had  changed  to  a  purple 
dusk.  One  of  the  gas-jets,  the  one  with  the  green  shade, 
was  lighted,  but  turned  low.  A  smell  of  tweeds  and  to- 
bacco, faint  but  pleasant,  welcomed  her  back.  A  large 
hand  was  holding  her  wrist,  and  she  saw  the  doctor  with 
his  crisp,  curly  gray  beard  and  mustache  looking  at  her 
with  his  kind  and  quizzical  expression,  reassuring  and 
tonic. 

"Waking  up,  are  you?"  he  said,  finally,  after  what 
seemed  like  a  long  time. 

"Have  I  been  ill?"  Claire  asked. 

"Not  exactly.  Heat  and  fatigue.  That's  all.  Too 
much  town  air.  You  and  Jamie  are  going  away." 

"We  can't,  doctor,"  Claire  answered  tremulously, 
and  her  lips  began  to  quiver. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  —  because  we  have  n't  any  money."  And 
she  was  on  the  verge  of  a  torrent  of  tears  when  the  doc- 
tor's tremendous  and  hearty  laugh  boomed  through  the 
room  and  through  the  house,  attacking  her  like  the  as- 
sault of  an  invigorating  douche. 

"No  money,  eh?  What  do  you  mean?" 

"Mr.  Elder  said  so." 

"He  did,  did  he?  Hang  lawyers!  They  always  make 
things  out  ten  times  worse  than  they  really  are  to  get 
credit  for  putting  them  right  again.  Don't  you  worry. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  243 

Crying  because  you  thought  you  had  n't  any  money, 
eh?" 

And  the  doctor's  explosive  laugh  boomed  again 
through  the  house,  making  the  air  tremble,  and  these 
vibrations  seemed  to  drive  before  them  the  accumulat- 
ing shadows  of  the  immediate  past;  seemed  to  charge 
the  lifeless  air  which  hung  heavily  throughout  the  house 
with  something  encouraging  and  vital;  seemed  potent 
even  to  banish  the  shades  of  the  departed  lingering  in 
the  rooms  below.  And  to  Claire,  tired  even  as  she  was, 
with  nerves  stretched  far  beyond  normal,  there  was  in 
the  tones  of  those  strong,  hearty,  boisterous,  human  ex- 
plosions something  indescribably  welcome  and  sustain- 
ing. The  strong  buoyancy  of  youth  rose  to  their  sum- 
mons, and  although  she  was  too  nerveless  to  dry  the 
tears  which  had  damped  her  cheeks,  with  a  smile  she 
turned  upon  her  side  and  slept. 

When  she  awoke  it  was  night.  Through  the  open 
windows  the  silhouettes  of  the  tenements,  as  flat  as  if 
cut  from  black  paper,  sprinkled  with  occasional  lights, 
displayed  their  outlines  against  a  faint  dusty  glow  rising 
from  the  street  beyond.  The  accustomed  noises  of  the 
evening  came  to  her,  the  gongs  of  the  electric  cars,  the 
rumbling  of  the  distant  Elevated,  rattle  of  wheels,  cries 
of  urchins,  and  the  thin  notes  of  the  reedy  instrument 
she  had  heard  before.  Across  the  corner  of  her  bed  lay  a 
sheet  of  light  projected  by  the  gas-jet  in  the  hall,  which 
threw  the  illuminated  oblong  of  the  doorway  against 
the  opposite  wall.  Jamie  was  moving  about  in  his  room 


244  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

whistling,  softly  and  half  apologetically,  something  of 
his  own. 

"Jamie,"  she  called  faintly. 

Jamie  instantly  appeared. 

"Yes,  Claire." 

"I'm  hungry." 

"All  right.  How  are  you  feeling?" 

"Well  enough.  A  little  weak,  though." 

"What  would  you  like?" 

"I  think  a  poached  egg9  Jamie,  and  some  toast  and 
tea.  Has  the  doctor  gone?" 

"Long  ago,"  answered  Jamie;  "but  he  told  us  to  give 
you  something  when  you  woke  up." 

"What  time  is  it?" 

"It's  only  nine.  I'll  tell  Maggie." 

Claire  for  some  minutes  lay  quite  still.  She  felt  fa- 
tigued, more  so  than  at  any  time  during  the  last  days, 
and  not  inclined  to  move,  but  her  taut  nerves  had  re- 
laxed themselves,  and  she  was  aware  that  her  apprehen- 
sions for  the  future  had  become  less  imminent  and 
menacing. 

George  came  in,  saying,  "Hello,"  cheerfully,  turned 
up  the  gas-jet  under  the  green  shade,  and  sat  down, 
adding,  with  an  air  of  super-brotherly  affability,  "How 
are  you  feeling?"  But  before  Claire  could  answer  a 
slight  clatter  sounded  in  the  hall  and  Maggie,  carrying  a 
bed-tray,  entered,  followed  by  Jamie,  each  moving  in  an 
aroma  of  buttered  toast,  and  it  struck  Claire  with  a 
sense  of  unmistakable  relief  that  Maggie's  cheeks  were 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  245 

as  red,  her  stays  as  tight,  her  shoes  as  creaky  as  they  al- 
ways had  been,  that  George  and  Jamie,  too,  were  un- 
changed, and  that  without,  the  world  was  going  on  pre- 
cisely as  it  had  before  the  appalling  Nicholson  tragedy 
had  for  a  time  blotted  it  out  of  appreciable  existence. 

Jamie  placed  another  pillow  at  her  back.  George 
lighted  another  gas-jet,  and  Maggie  adjusted  the  short 
legs  of  the  bed-tray  on  either  side  of  Claire's  half-re- 
cumbent form.  Claire  poured  herself  a  cup  of  tea  and 
attacked  the  poached  egg  with  relish,  while  George  and 
Jamie  lounged  about,  displaying  an  obvious  determina- 
tion to  be  cheerful  and  fraternally  amiable  —  and  this 
transparent  determination  arising  so  clearly  out  of  con- 
sideration for  herself  also  helped  to  raise  Claire's  spirits. 
By  a  tacit  understanding  family  matters  were  avoided. 

"Had  an  answer  from  Rockcroft  yet?"  she  heard 
Jamie  ask  casually  of  George. 

"Yes,  they  can  give  you  rooms  any  time  after  day 
after  to-morrow,  so  I  wired  we'd  take  them  from  the 
tenth  for  a  month." 

"Who  is  that  for,  George?"  Claire  asked. 

"You  and  Jamie,"  George  answered. 

"Well,  I  certainly  am  not  going  to  Rockcroft,"  Claire 
replied. 

"Why  not?"  George  asked  in  surprise. 

Rockcroft  was  a  small  colony  in  the  White  Moun- 
tains, of  almost  conventual  dullness,  where  Claire  had 
suffered  the  martyrdom  of  boredom  many  times  in  the 
company  of  Aunt  Caroline.  It  was  a  favorite  resort  for 


246  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

members  of  the  Nicholson  church  and  a  numerous  band 
with  like  proclivities  from  Brooklyn. 

"Because  it's  the  stupidest  place  that  ever  existed!  I 
won't  go  there!  I'd  rather  stay  in  town." 

"All  right!  All  right!"  George  answered  hastily. 
"You  don't  have  to  go  if  you  don't  want  to.  We 
thought  you'd  like  it.  Any  place  you'd  like  better?" 

"Yes.  Atlantic  City." 

At  the  mention  of  this  city  of  sin,  as  it  had  been  the 
habit  of  the  elder  Nicholsons  to  regard  it,  the  brothers 
exchanged  involuntary  glances  of  startled  admiration, 
and  George,  concealing  a  prideful  grin,  answered: 

"It's  awfully  crowded  and  noisy  at  this  time  of 
year  — " 

"I  don't  care,"  Claire  answered.  "That's  what  I 
want.  Could  n't  you  telephone  down  there  to  some  of 
the  hotels  and  see  if  they  have  any  rooms?" 

"Well,  yes,  I  suppose  I  could  — "  George  began. 

"Then  do  it  now.  Please,  George!" 

"All  right!"  George  acquiesced,  rising. 

"And  no  little  cheap  one  on  back  streets.  I  want  to 
go  to  one  of  the  big  ones  facing  the  ocean.  Do  you  know 
their  names?" 

"I  know  their  names  all  right.  When  do  you  think 
you  would  feel  well  enough  to  go?" 

"Any  time,  to-morrow  or  next  day.  The  very  thought 
of  it  makes  me  feel  better  already." 

"Well,  don't  bank  on  it,"  cautioned  the  cautious 
George.  "This  is  the  season  down  there,  you  know." 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  247 

George  departed.  Almost  at  once  Claire  called  him 
back. 

"And,  George,  besides  our  bedrooms  I  shall  want  a 
sitting-room  communicating  with  them  —  for  not  less 
than  a  month.  I've  got  money  to  pay  for  everything." 

"Don't  worry  about  that." 

Her  sacrificial  mood  had  for  the  moment,  and  under 
the  encouragement  of  the  doctor's  optimism,  been  lost 
sight  of.  At  least  for  a  month  she  would  forget  if  she 
could  her  responsibilities,  her  duties;  the  past  and  the 
future. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Claire  and  Jamie,  in  wheeled  chairs,  were  being  pushed 
by  two  menials  along  the  Board  Walk.  The  sun  setting 
behind  the  vast  bulks  of  the  hotels  cast  their  translucent 
shadows  across  the  crowded  beach  below,  out  into  the 
tumbling  waves,  except  where  occasional  gaps  in  their 
continuity  permitted  bands  of  amber  light  to  illuminate 
the  moving  multitudes  and  the  white  foam  of  the 
breakers. 

They  had  been  at  Atlantic  City  for  a  week,  and  this 
week  had  been  one  of  delightful  dolcefar  niente.  George 
had  been  lucky  enough  to  get  really  charming  rooms  for 
.them.  The  sitting-room  on  a  corner  had  windows  on 
two  sides.  Claire's  room  faced  the  ocean,  and  each 
night,  as  the  salt  air,  entering  suavely  through  her 
opened  windows,  swept  her  cheeks  and  hair,  she  was 
lulled  to  sleep  by  the  lazy  beat  of  the  surf.  Immediately 
on  their  arrival  they  had  inaugurated  a  regime  so  indo- 
lent that  it  ultimately  began  to  make  Claire  secretly 
ashamed.  Breakfast,  very  late,  invariably  in  their  sit- 
ting-room, extravagant  patronage  of  the  wheeled  chairs, 
and  hours  of  perfect  idleness,  dawdling  over  a  book  or 
lying  on  the  sand.  At  first  Claire  was  too  tired  to  think 
much  about  it  one  way  or  the  other,  and  as  Jamie  was 
not  incapable  of  doing  nothing  gracefully,  one  day  fol- 
lowed another  in  a  smooth,  lethargic  procession;  but  as 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  249 

under  the  stimulus  of  the  change  her  vigorous  vitality 
revived  once  more,  her  indolence  became  a  little  irk- 
some, and  both  she  and  Jamie  began  to  look  about 
rather  wistfully  for  something  wherewith  to  engage 
themselves. 

They  had  had  one  letter  from  George  indicating  that 
the  doctor's  optimism  was  not  likely  to  survive  the  hard 
facts  of  Elder's  pessimistic  forecast,  but  that  there  was 
one  eventuality  which  would  help  the  situation  tre- 
mendously, and  that  was  the  possible  purchase  of  the 
plant  of  the  Nicholson  Company  by  a  prosperous  manu- 
facturing company  whose  works  were  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. There  was  nothing  definite  to  be  said  about  it  yet, 
but  the  syndicate  was  considering  the  matter.  In  the 
meantime,  he  was  afraid  the  Ninth  Street  house  would 
have  to  go.  And  also,  in  the  meantime,  he  admonished 
Claire  not  to  worry.  Claire  had  already  made  up  her 
mind  not  to  if  she  could  avoid  it,  but  George's  letter 
brought  back  relentlessly  the  fact  that  things  were 
changed,  that  her  former  safeness  and  security,  fictitious 
though  it  had  shown  itself  to  be,  was  a  thing  of  the  past, 
and  that  after  the  respite  Atlantic  City  afforded  her,  the 
indubitable  future  would  await  her. 

Claire  and  Jamie  submitted  themselves  to  the  em- 
braces of  the  wheeled  chairs,  and  to  the  propulsive  pow- 
ers of  the  menials,  each  with  a  superb,  slightly  self-con- 
scious air  of  luxurious  lassitude,  and  yet  their  eyes  at 
times  moved  restlessly,  already  searching  for  something 
wherewith  to  mitigate  the  growing  tedium  of  a  too  per- 


250  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

feet  existence.  Jamie  looked  longingly  at  the  cavernous 
entrance  of  a  moving-picture  palace,  at  the  frivolous 
fagade  of  a  cabaret,  at  a  mosque-like  structure  conceal- 
ing within  mysterious  occult  enchantments,  and 
glanced  appealingly  at  Claire;  but  Claire  would  not 
respond.  It  was  only  two  weeks  since  —  since  —  and 
although  it  seemed  much,  much  longer,  it  was  not  to  be 
thought  of.  She  had  come  to  Atlantic  City  because  it 
was  gay,  because  she  knew  that  she  needed  an  environ- 
ment of  that  kind;  but  to  take  part  in  it,  even  if  they 
were  feeling  a  little  bored,  would  be  too  unseemly  — 

"Hello!"  cried  Jamie  suddenly,  with  an  unmistakable 
note  of  pleasure  in  his  voice.  "There's  Orville!''  And 
Claire,  glancing  up  quickly  and  following  his  gaze,  saw 
Orville  approaching,  also  in  a  wheeled  chair.  There  was 
something  so  absurd,  to  Claire,  about  the  spectacle  of 
the  vital  and  energetic  Orville  submitting  himself  to  the 
passive  impotence  of  a  wheeled  chair,  that  she  laughed 
aloud.  Orville  saw  them,  waved  a  hand,  lifted  his  hat, 
and  all  three  joined  forces  eagerly. 

"George  told  me  you  were  here!  I  was  going  to  look 
you  up.  I'm  down  for  a  little  vacation." 

Orville,  the  moment  he  had  heard  from  George  that 
Claire  had  gone  to  Atlantic  City,  had  determined  to  fol- 
low her  there,  but  he  had  purposely  waited  a  week, 
shrewdly  calculating  that  if  he  did  so  his  appearance 
would  be  doubly  welcome.  His  restraint  was  rewarded 
by  both  Claire's  and  Jamie's  real  pleasure  at  seeing 
him. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  251 

"New  York  is  like  a  furnace.  We're  lucky  to  be  out 
of  it.  Come  and  lunch  with  me  at  my  hotel.  It's  one 
o'clock  and  you're  nearly  a  mile  from  yours!" 

Jamie  glanced  at  Claire,  who  hesitated. 

"Come  on,  Claire,  it  can't  do  any  harm!"  he  urged. 

"We'll  be  as  quiet  as  you  like,"  added  Orville. 

"Very  well,"  Claire  decided.  And  getting  out  of  their 
chairs  they  strolled  toward  the  huge  pile  where  Orville 
was  stopping. 

"Are  you  all  right  again?"  To  his  tone  of  friendly 
solicitude  was  added  something  more  which  was  not  un- 
pleasant to  Claire.  Something  warmer,  more  personal, 
more  protecting  than  he  had  shown  before.  His  chaffing, 
bantering  manner  had  disappeared  completely.  He  had 
become  pleasantly  serious,  sympathetic  and  simple,  but 
his  assured  and  reliant  laugh  was  still  the  same,  and  his 
careless  air  of  understanding  confidence.  He  met  some 
one  at  every  step,  it  seemed,  with  whom  he  exchanged 
greetings.  The  head  waiter  rushed  to  meet  him  as  they 
entered  the  dining-room,  and  Claire  and  Jamie  sank 
into  their  chairs  pleasantly  aware  of  the  fact  that  in- 
stead of  being  rather  isolated  and  lonely  outsiders,  they 
had  suddenly  become  significant  entities  in  the  cosmog- 
raphy of  the  town. 

Jamie  chirruped  through  his  teeth,  a  trick  of  his 
which  usually  made  Orville  laugh,  and  exclaimed. 
"This  is  something  like!" 

"Why,  Jamie,  we've  been  having  a  lovely  time!" 
Claire  remonstrated. 


252  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"I  know  it,  but  it's  good  to  see  some  one  you  know 
once  more." 

"Some  one,  or  any  one,"  said  Orville. 

"  Some  much  more  than  others,  as  you  must  know,  my 
beamish  boy.   How's  George?" 

"Jamie,"  said  Claire  reprovingly,  "don't  be  imperti- 
nent!" 

And  Jamie  replied,  "All  right,  I  won't!" 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Orville,  "I  don't  mind." 

"It  doesn't  matter,"  replied  Jamie.  "Claire  has 
asked  me  not  to  be  impertinent,  and  I'm  not  going  to 
be." 

"  What  nonsense  you  're  talking,  Jamie.  You  have  n't 
told  Mr.  Orville  what  you'd  like  for  luncheon." 

"Something  rare  and  expensive,"  Jamie  answered. 
"I'm  not  particular." 

Claire  laughed  at  Jamie's  nonsense  which  he  delivered 
in  his  inimitable  way,  and  exchanged  amused  glances 
with  Orville.  She  was  really  delighted  to  see  him,  and 
asked  him  presently  how  long  he  intended  to  stay. 

"Two  weeks,  perhaps.  Perhaps  longer,"  Orville 
answered.  "I  find  that  if  I  am  to  keep  my  efficiency  at 
top-notch  I  must  get  away  from  town  pretty  often." 

She  had  had  a  note  from  him  after  the  tragedy,  writ- 
ten with  surprising  tact  and  sympathy,  and  she  had 
noticed  that  he  was  in  the  church  on  the  morning  of  the 
funeral,  but  she  had  not  spoken  to  him  for  nearly  a 
month.  There  was  really  something  warm  and  pleasant 
in  this  renewal  of  their  intercourse.  He  seemed  to  sym- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  253 

bolize  the  safety  of  established  things  now  that  her  own 
safety  was  threatened,  and  in  his  company  she  felt  a 
renewal  of  her  old  sense  of  security. 

They  sat  for  a  time  in  a  discreet  corner  of  the  lounge 
after  luncheon  —  where  Claire  allowed  herself  to  smoke 
a  cigarette  —  listening  to  the  performance  of  an  excel- 
lent orchestra,  and  then  Orville  walked  back  with  them 
to  their  hotel,  leaving  them  at  the  door. 

An  east  wind  which  had  sprung  up  during  the  night 
had  overcast  the  sky,  and  they  had  barely  reached  their 
rooms  when  it  began  to  rain.  A  dull  afternoon  was 
plainly  before  them.  Claire  sought  solace  in  a  book,  and 
Jamie  disappeared  somewhere  into  the  recesses  of  the 
hotel,  reappearing  occasionally  as  he  wandered  about 
aimlessly.  The  moment  for  dinner  arrived  with  a  wel- 
come sense  of  relief  from  the  monotony  of  the  afternoon, 
and  the  concert  of  the  hotel  orchestra  served  to  pass  an 
hour  afterwards,  but  on  returning  to  their  rooms  they 
found  that  the  storm  of  wind  and  rain  had  increased, 
beating  fiercely  against  the  windows  of  Claire's  room 
and  of  their  parlor  which  faced  the  water,  sweeping 
across  the  dull  expanse  of  the  ocean,  and  over  the  de- 
serted beach  and  promenade.  All  night  the  rain  beat 
fiercely,  and  in  the  morning  Claire  woke  to  find  it  still 
driving  in  from  the  ocean  under  a  flying  canopy  of  slaty 
clouds.  The  aspect  of  their  surroundings  had  changed 
completely.  The  disappearance  of  the  multitudes  which 
swarmed  along  the  front  caused  the  resort  to  take  on  an 
appearance  of  dejected  weariness,  of  stolid  boredom 


254  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

which  communicated  itself  in  turn  to  the  inmates  of  the 
hotels.  Breakfasting  in  private  suddenly  lost  its  attrac- 
tions to  Claire  and  Jamie,  and  they  sought  the  com- 
panionship of  the  public  dining-room,  but  after  finishing, 
the  prospect  of  a  morning  indoors  was  found  to  be  in- 
supportable, and  getting  into  mackintoshes,  they  braved 
the  strong  pressure  of  the  Atlantic  gale,  stepping  out 
briskly  along  the  Board  Walk  whose  saturated  surface 
gleamed  grayly  with  dull  reflections.  Occasional  pedes- 
trians could  be  seen  on  its  interminable  vista,  diminish- 
ing in  the  distance  to  slowly  moving  specks.  The  hotels, 
out  of  which  something  vital  seemed  to  have  passed, 
stood  inert  and  lifeless,  their  blank  windows  and  closed 
doors  giving  no  hint  of  activity  within.  To  seaward  two 
coasting  vessels  were  dimly  visible  through  the  driving 
rain,  rolling  in  the  gray  sea,  but  moving  steadily  north, 
the  smoke  from  their  funnels  being  caught  instantly  by 
the  wind  and  swept  swiftly  toward  the  shore. 

The  scene  was  not  an  enlivening  one,  but  the  move- 
ment and  rush  of  the  wind,  and  the  whip  of  the  rain  on 
their  faces  produced  in  them  a  sense  of  strong  exhilara- 
tion, and  presently  they  found  themselves  in  a  gale  of 
laughter  racing  like  children. 

"Why,  you  can  run  quite  well ! "  Jamie  remarked  with 
intentional  patronage. 

"As  well  as  you!"  Claire  retorted. 

"Can  you?  All  right;  I'll  race  you  to  that  little  blue 
kiosk,  eh?" 

Claire  darted  off  without  replying. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  Z5b 

u That's  a  low  trick!"  cried  Jamie  from  the  rear,  and 
she  heard  the  patter  of  his  feet  as  he  began  to  exert  him- 
self to  overtake  her.  On  they  flew.  Claire  was  almost 
a  match  for  him,  but  not  quite.  She  made  every  effort, 
but  gradually  he  drew  abreast  of  her,  ahead  of  her, 
slowly  he  passed  her,  and  catching  a  glimpse  of  his  bent 
head  and  downright  expression,  at  the  rapid  alternation 
of  hands  and  feet,  she  began  to  laugh  hysterically,  strain- 
ing to  keep  up  with  him,  but  Jamie  momentarily  now 
drew  farther  and  farther  ahead.  All  at  once  she  thought, 
"I  must  not  laugh  like  this!  It  is  only  two  weeks  since 
—  since  — - *'  But  youth  would  have  its  way,  and  it  was 
only  when  noticing  that  in  their  mad  rush  they  were 
passing  Orville's  hotel  that  she  became  sober  and 
stopped  while  Jamie  still  sped  on.  She  had  become  sud- 
denly self-conscious.  What  must  she  look  like,  giggling 
hysterically  and  racing  like  an  overgrown  school-girl  in 
that  ridiculous  manner?  She  felt  certain  that  bad  luck 
would  see  to  it  that  Orville  would  be  sitting  at  one  of 
the  windows,  and  she  scanned  them  furtively. 

Jamie,  who  had  discovered  her  defection,  was  return- 
ing to  her  teasingly  victorious,  and  they  started  back 
toward  their  hotel.  The  rain  had  again  increased  and 
they  were  glad  to  reach  shelter;  but  two  hours  had  still 
to  be  disposed  of  before  luncheon.  A  general  air  of  wear- 
iness and  lassitude  pervaded  the  hotel.  Claire  and  Jamie 
tested  its  resources  without  success.  Shuffleboard  and 
billiards  seemed  to  have  become  insupportably  inane, 
and  Claire  finally  went  upstairs  to  her  book  which  was 


256  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

proving  to  be  hardly  absorbing  enough  to  cope  with  the 
situation.  From  time  to  time  she  thought  of  Orville,  and 
that  if  he  had  looked  them  up  as  she  had  thought  likely, 
he  might  have  helped  her  to  pass  a  stolid  hour  or  two.  It 
was  now  twenty-four  since  she  and  Jamie  had  met  him, 
and  they  had  not  heard  from  him. 

After  luncheon  Jamie  disappeared,  and  on  returning 
about  five  explained  that  he  had  been  to  Orville's  hotel 
thinking  he  might  meet  him.  Jamie,  too,  apparently 
had  been  thinking  of  him.  He  had  not  seen  Orville,  and 
finally  on  inquiring  at  the  desk  was  told  that  he  was  not 
in. 

" Let's  telephone  and  ask  him  to  dine  with  us,"  Jamie 
suggested.    "We  can't  stand  this  much  longer." 

"No,"  answered  Claire.  She  was  a  little  piqued  at 
Orville's  silence,  adding,  although  she  understood  per- 
fectly well,  "Can't  stand  what?" 

"This  mad,  exhausting  whirl,  of  course!"  responded 
Jamie.   "Come  on,  let's  ask  him,  Claire!" 

"No,  Jamie,  I  shall  not!" 

"Why?" 

"Jamie,  as  if  you  did  n't  know!" 

"You  mean  —  ?" 

"  Of  course ! "  And  yet  Claire  knew  that  their  mourn- 
ing was  not  the  real  reason. 

"There  can't  be  any  harm  in  it,  Claire,"  he  persisted. 
"Orville  has  got  to  dine,  and  so  have  we.  I  don't  see 
why  we  can't  do  it  together." 

"Don't  let's  argue  about  it,  Jamie!" 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  257 

Jamie  turned  sulky  —  he  did  n't  often  —  and  started 
toward  the  door.  Just  as  he  reached  it  the  telephone 
rang  close  to  him.  He  lifted  the  receiver,  and  Claire 
heard  the  following  monologue: 

"Yes.  Who  is  it  —  Yes,  this  is  Mr.  James  Nicholson 
—  oh,  shut  up  Central,  if  you  please!  —  would  we? 
I  should  n't  wonder.  What  time?  On  the  minute.  Oh, 
she's  all  right,  only  nearly  dead  with  ennui  —  so  am  I. 
Eight  o'clock,  then.  Right-o!"  Jamie  chirruped  into 
the  receiver,  hung  it  up,  and  looked  at  Claire  with  a  min- 
gled glance  of  triumph  and  defiance.  "Orville  wants  us 
to  dine  with  him  at  eight.  He's  sending  his  car  for  us." 

"Why  did  you  say  I  was  bored?"  Claire  demanded. 
"I  am  not  bored  at  all!  I  wish  you  would  n't  say  such 
things,  Jamie!" 

"But  you  are!" 

"I'm  not!"  Claire  declared  so  downrightly  that 
Jamie  answered: 

"All  right!"  quite  bewildered;  adding,  "But  you 
don't  mind  going,  do  you?" 

"No,  I  suppose  not,"  Claire  replied  with  unexpected 
acquiescence,  and  both  were  aware  that  a  certain  cheer 
which  had  been  absent  before  had  come  into  the  room. 
Jamie  started  once  more  for  the  door,  and  in  response 
to  a  question  from  Claire  said : 

"I'm  going  to  make  my  toilet." 

"But  we  are  n't  going  for  over  two  hours,  Jamie." 

"I  know  it,  but  I've  got  to  kill  the  time  somehow. 
Do  you  know  I  like  Orville  much  better  than  I  ever 


258  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

thought  I  should  —  do  you  know  why?  Because  he's 
such  an  understanding  kind  of  person." 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  he's  got  as  much  intellectual  curiosity  as  any 
Jew.  For  instance,  I  'm  certain  he  does  n't  give  a  red  for 
music,  and  yet  he  knows  it's  one  of  the  great  solvents  of 
life — Jamie  stopped  and  looked  at  Claire.  "Solvents 
of  life!  Not  bad,  eh,  Claire?  Well — he  recognizes  it  as 
one  of  the  great  solvents  of  life  and  he  respects  it  and  its 
devotees,  even  if  he  does  n't  appreciate  it  himself. 
That's  only  one  instance.  He's  that  way  about  every- 
thing. He's  the  most  open-minded  person,  barring 
Mallette,  I  ever  knew." 

"Have  you  heard  from  Mr.  Mallette,  Jamie,  since  he 
went  away?  " 

"Did  n't  I  tell  you?  I  got  a  letter  from  Chicago. 
Such  a  corking  letter.  He'd  seen  it  in  the  papers.  He 
sent  an  awfully  nice  message  to  you  —  I  must  have  left 
it  at  home  — "  And  as  the  subject  of  Mallette's  letter 
was  leading  them  to  the  catastrophe,  he  abandoned  it, 
saying,  "But  about  Orville.  He's  interested  in  every- 
thing —  and  he  listens  to  what  you  have  to  say ! " 

"Well,  of  course  you'd  like  that,  Jamie,  being  some- 
thing of  a  talker." 

"No,  it  is  n't  that,  Claire,  but  I'll  bet  you  that  most 
really  big  men  are  good  listeners." 

"Do  you  think  Mr.  Orville  is  a  big  man?" 

"Yes,  I  do  — I  think  he  is." 

"Do  you  think  he  is  kind?" 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  259 

"I  think  he's  kind  in  this  way — because  he  under- 
stands things  so  well  —  but  I  don't  think  he  would  ever 
allow  his  sympathies  to  govern  his  conduct." 

"  That 's  exactly  what  I  think.  I  don't  think  he  would 
even  be  weakly  indulgent  with  a  person  because  he  liked 
him." 

"Oh,  I  mean  more  than  that,"  answered  Jamie.  "I 
meant  that  even  if  he  liked  and  felt  sorry  for  a  person,  it 
would  n't  prevent  his  smashing  him  if  he  stood  between 
him  and  something  he  wanted." 

"Oh,  Jamie,  I  don't  think  he's  a  bad  man." 

"I  didn't  say  he  was,  but  these  men  of  affairs  have  a 
queer  code  sometimes.  In  the  Street,  you  know,  it's 
yourself  always  —  yourself  only  — " 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  they  are  n't  honest?" 

"No;  but  they're  pretty  ruthless.  I've  heard  George 
talk  —  and  other  people.  It's  a  case  of  the  devil  take 
the  hindmost."  Jamie  turned  toward  the  door  once 
more.   "I  say,  I  must  be  getting  ready." 


CHAPTER  XV 

The  car  that  Orville  sent  proved  to  be  not  the  superla- 
tive limousine  they  had  become  familiar  with  in  town, 
but  a  formidable  open  machine  equipped  for  travel. 
The  weather  curtains  had  been  put  on  over  the  seats, 
and  crawling  into  the  low  enclosure  which  they  made, 
they  found  Orville's  chauffeur  at  the  wheel. 

Orville  himself  met  them  at  the  door  of  the  hotel,  gay 
and  vigorous.  His  face  glowed  with  the  ruddy  tones  of 
health,  and  his  eyes  shone  clear  and  sparkling.  Claire 
thought  he  looked,  if  not  handsome,  almost  distin- 
guished; and  his  first  words  disposed  her  to  forgive  his 
apparent  neglect  of  herself  and  Jamie. 

"You  '11  never  guess  how  I  've  been  spending  the  day," 
he  said  at  once,  and  he  pressed  Claire's  hand  in  his 
powerful  grasp. 

"Not  the  way  we  have,  I  hope,"  Jamie  answered. 

"I  would  have  if  I  had  n't  gone  to  the  Country  Club 
and  played  golf  since  early  morning,  in  the  rain,  all  by 
myself." 

"What  did  you  do  that  for?"  Claire  asked.  "You 
seem  to  know  lots  of  people  here." 

"But  I  did  n't  come  here  to  see  lots  of  people!  I  came 
here  to  be  alone."  And  to  correct  the  impression  that 
this  statement  might  have  made,  he  added,  "I  wanted 
to  ask  you  and  Jamie  to  come  out  there  for  tea,  but  I 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  261 

was  afraid  it  would  n't  appeal  to  you  —  the  journey, 
I  mean  —  in  such  weather." 

As  he  spoke,  they  moved  toward  the  restaurant,  and 
on  to  Orville's  table,  where  a  discreet  nosegay  smiled  a 
welcome  to  Claire.  The  courses  of  the  dinner,  which  had 
already  been  ordered,  and  which  began  their  procession 
without  delay,  were  well  chosen,  cooked,  and  served. 
Orville  seemed,  in  fact,  to  be  always  well  served.  He 
seemed  to  expect,  and  to  receive,  from  every  situation, 
the  best  it  had  to  offer.  Orville's  progress  seemed  al- 
ways to  take  on  the  character  of  an  unostentatious 
triumphal  procession  —  of  the  concealed  but  evident 
prestige  of  royalty  traveling  incognito,  all  of  which  he 
accepted,  not  with  any  evidence  of  vulgar  satisfaction, 
but  as  a  matter  of  course. 

The  management  and  atmosphere  of  Orville's  hotel, 
a  smart  affair  which  made  Claire's  seem  quite  humdrum 
in  comparison,  was  very  welcome  after  her  long  con- 
finement. They  sat  in  the  lounge  for  an  hour  after 
dinner,  when  Jamie  went  to  look  at  the  weather,  and 
reporting  that  it  was  clearing,  Claire  decided  to  return 
by  the  Board  Walk.  Orville  accompanied  them.  As 
they  stepped  out  of  the  brilliant  interior  of  the  hotel, 
the  solemn  majesty  of  night  and  the  sea  spoke  to  Claire 
augustly,  as  it  had  done  more  than  once,  commanding 
her  to  silence.  The  wind  was  shifting  toward  the  north. 
An  occasional  star  shone,  but  there  was  no  moon,  and 
across  the  ocean  her  glance  was  lost  in  the  darkness  of 
an  illimitable  void.  Nearer  to  the  secret  sense  of  things 


262  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

she  seemed  than  at  any  other  time  or  place,  nearer  the 
key  to  the  mysteries  of  birth,  life,  death,  the  meaning 
of  the  material  universe,  nearer  thus,  facing  Nature  in 
its  most  majestic  aspect,  than  among  the  prying  swarms 
of  insatiable  humanity,  or  among  all  the  books  written 
by  man  to  explain  the  baffling  silence  which  surrounds 
him.  Something  vague  and  beautiful  seemed  to  lift 
Claire's  senses  for  a  moment,  up  and  up,  until  she  be- 
came conscious  again  of  the  cheerful  banter  of  Orville 
and  Jamie  beside  her. 

"So  you  are  a  Jerseyite,"  Jamie  was  saying  quizzi- 
cally. 

"Yes,"  Orville  answered.  "Born  among  the  sand- 
dunes,  the  scrub-pines,  and  the  mosquitoes."  And 
presently  he  added,  turning  to  Claire,  "Do  you  know 
the  country  about  here?  " 

Claire  answered  that  she  did  not. 

"Then  will  you  and  Jamie  come  with  me  to-morrow 
morning?  I  will  show  you  some  of  it  —  and  perhaps  we 
can  find  a  place  for  luncheon." 

"I  should  like  to,"  Claire  answered,  hardly  hearing; 
and  almost  with  a  sigh,  she  murmured,  "How  beautiful 
it  is!" 

Orville  looked  at  her  as  if  wishing  to  search  quickly 
for  her  meaning,  and  Claire,  noticing,  continued,  "The 
night,  I  mean.  The  clouds  and  the  stars,  after  the  rain!" 

Orville  looked  above  him  for  an  instant  —  Claire 
could  not  tell  whether  he  understood  or  not  —  and 
turning  toward  her  again  he  said,  "Then  I  shall  call  for 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWNj  263 

you  at  ten."    He  seemed  to  reveal  in  his  eye  the  gleam 
of  a  sudden  resolve. 

Orville,  who  was  always  scrupulously  punctual  unless 
it  served  his  purpose  not  to  be,  was  announced  pre- 
cisely at  ten.  After  the  storm,  Nature  had  relapsed  into 
a  phase  of  complete  quiescence.  The  air,  moist  and  per- 
fectly still,  while  yet  cool,  gave  promise  of  increasing 
warmth  during  the  day.  Orville  had  brought  his  open 
car,  driving  it  himself,  with  a  hamper  in  case  they 
should  be  unable  to  find  luncheon  anywhere,  and  they 
started  toward  the  north,  gradually  leaving  the  coast 
behind,  over  narrow,  level  roads  still  dotted  with  shal- 
low pools  of  rain-water,  which  Orville's  car  dashed  reso- 
lutely aside  in  showers  of  muddy  drops. 

Suddenly  Claire  became  aware  that  they  were  wind- 
ing in  gradual  curves  through  a  dense  growth  of  scrub- 
pine.  They  went  on,  mile  after  mile.  Occasionally  an 
open  road  would  be  met,  and  rough  clearings  would 
open  out,  revealing  a  dilapidated  house  or  two,  built  of 
unpainted  clapboards.  But  immediately  on  passing 
them,  the  forest  would  close  in  upon  them  again,  almost 
brushing  the  wheels  of  the  car. 

They  went  on  for  miles,  threading  an  interminable 
wilderness  of  trees.  The  day  grew  momentarily  more 
oppressive.  An  immense  blanket  of  humid  air  enveloped 
them,  and  from  the  horizon  the  occasional  rumblings  of 
thunder  warned  them  of  approaching  storms.  Orville, 
whose  assured  confidence  had  been  giving  place  for 


264  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

some  time  past  to  a  perplexed  uncertainty,  suddenly 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  satisfaction,  and  turned 
sharply  to  the  right  into  a  wide,  rough  road  crossing 
that  on  which  he  had  been  driving.  He  followed  this 
road  for  a  hundred  yards,  perhaps,  swerved  from  it 
again  into  a  narrow  lane  through  other  serried  ranks  of 
scrub-pines,  and  emerging  close  to  a  deserted,  dilapi- 
dated railway  station  which  stood  beside  a  line  of  rusty 
rails,  drew  up  opposite  a  small,  unpainted  house  that 
stood  across  the  way,  the  front  portion  of  whose  first 
story  was  fitted  with  shop  windows,  where  behind  dirty 
panes  a  meager  assortment  of  the  miscellaneous  objects 
of  a  country  store  could  be  seen.  Three  men,  wearing 
wide-brimmed,  ragged  straw  hats  and  soiled  and  faded 
overalls,  lounged  on  the  steps  of  the  store,  smoking 
corn-cob  pipes  and  languidly  spitting  into  the  dusty 
road. 

A  clearing  of  perhaps  a  hundred  acres  surrounded 
them,  bearing  evidence  of  wretched  and  desultory  cul- 
tivation, and  here  and  there  upon  this  expanse  a  few 
small  shanties  stood  dejectedly,  as  if  their  builders  had 
erected  them  with  a  minimum  of  interest  or  effort. 

In  the  doorway  of  one  of  them  a  woman  wearing  a 
gingham  sun-bonnet  stood  bending  over  a  washtub. 
Two  children  were  driving  a  cow,  with  apparent  aim- 
lessness  of  purpose,  across  a  field.  The  air  quivered  in 
the  insufferable  heat,  made  more  apparent  by  their 
cessation  of  motion.  Orville,  without  speaking,  sat  with 
Claire  beside  him,  observing  this  scene  with  an  ex- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  265 

pression  which  seemed  compounded  of  distaste,  interest, 
almost  amazement. 

Claire  looked  at  him  questioningly,  not  understand- 
ing why  they  should  stop  in  this  depressing  place. 
Orville,  seeming  to  understand,  indicated  a  boy  who 
had  come  out  of  the  country  shop.  He  wore  a  ragged 
shirt  and  trousers,  but  no  hat,  nor  shoes,  nor  stockings. 
His  skin  was  burned  brown,  and  his  hair  was  bleached 
almost  white  by  the  sun.  He  edged  his  way  between 
two  of  the  loungers  and  seated  himself  on  the  bottom 
step. 

"Thirty  years  ago,  I  was  that  boy,"  said  Orville. 

Claire,  resting  listlessly  in  the  languor  of  the  torrid 
day,  stirred  with  a  little  movement  of  interest,  and 
gave  him  again  a  questioning  glance. 

"Forty  years  ago  I  was  born  in  that  house,"  con- 
tinued Orville. 

"Born  there,"  repeated  Claire,  almost  in  stupefaction 
—  the  mere  thought  seemed  so  preposterous.  "But 
how  —  how  did  you  get  away?  " 

"I  ran  away,"  answered  Orville,  "when  I  was  about 
as  old  as  that  very  boy;  in  shirt  and  trousers  —  without 
a  cent  in  my  pocket,  without  a  hat,  without  shoes.  My 
father  kept  the  store.  He  was  so  like  them  that  he 
might  have  been  any  one  of  the  three  men  you  see  sit- 
ting on  the  steps,  without  ambition,  energy,  or  intellect. 
My  mother  I  do  not  remember." 

"Was  your  father  cruel  to  you?"  Claire  asked. 

"He  was  neither  cruel  nor  kind;  he  was  a  complete 


266  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

nonentity;  but  I  had  realized,  when  I  was  still  very 
young,  that  if  I  wanted  anything  I  must  not  depend  on 
him  for  it.  I  had  intended  for  a  long  time  to  go."  Or- 
ville  went  on  after  a  moment:  "But  it  was  curious,  the 
way  it  finally  happened.  It  was  a  day  very  much  like 
this,  in  the  summer.  I  was  sitting  on  the  steps,  as  that 
boy  is  doing,  looking  down  the  road;  and  suddenly  some 
impulse  told  me  that  the  hour  had  come.  I  thought  of 
my  hat  and  of  my  shoes,  and  of  a  fifty-cent  piece  I  had 
hidden  in  a  corner  of  the  rough  framing  of  my  room 
upstairs,  —  the  house  was  n't  plastered,  —  but  some- 
thing said  to  me,  'Don't  wait!'  It  seemed  to  me  that 
something  beckoned  to  me,  and  that  if  I  went  then,  the 
way  would  be  open.  I  got  up.  My  father,  who  was  sit- 
ting on  the  steps  with  a  group  of  loafers,  engaged,  as 
they  always  were,  in  their  inane  and  childish  chaffing 
and  argument,  said,  'Where  you  goin',  son?'  And  I 
answered,  'Just  along  the  road.'" 

Orville  paused  again  and  repeated  almost  as  if  to 
himself,  that  short  sentence: 

"Along  the  road." 

"How  much  those  three  words  meant!  I  was  going 
along  the  road,  out  into  the  world,  into  the  future,  into 
the  realms  of  achievement  and  adventure  —  into  life. 
A  journey  along  the  road." 

Claire  looked  at  Orville  in  surprise.  She  had  never 
seen  in  him  anything  to  indicate  that  he  might  respond 
to  the  beckonings  of  imagination;  but  now,  under  its 
stimulus,  his  eyes  glowed,  and  he  displayed  a  fluency, 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  267 

even  a  grace  of  expression,  quite  different  from  the 
usual  matter-of-fact  vernacular  of  his  vocabulary. 
•  Jamie,  who  had  been  lolling  back  in  the  tonneau, 
enjoying  a  cigarette,  sat  up  to  listen;  and  they  presented 
the  curious  spectacle,  of  a  powerful,  modern,  shining, 
car,  standing  in  the  middle  of  a  desolate  "New  Jersey 
clearing,  while  one  of  its  occupants,  a  resolute  and  pros- 
perous-looking person  of  forty,  discoursed  to  a  hand- 
some girl  who  sat  beside  him  and  a  young  man  leaning 
forward  from  the  back  seat. 

"Along  the  road,"  repeated  Orville  once  more  —  "a 
simile  of  life." 

"And  you  went  away  without  even  anything  to  eat?" 
Claire  asked. 

"Into  the  world,  with  a  ragged  shirt  and  a  pair  of 
ragged  trousers,"  Orville  answered. 

"But  tell  me  about  it  —  just  what  you  did." 

Orville  smiled. 

"I  have  kept  you  here  long  enough." 

"Please!"  Claire  insisted. 

"Luncheon  first,"  said  Orville,  smiling  but  firm. 
"Now  that  I  have  my  bearings  once  more,  I  can  take 
you  to  a  very  good  restaurant  not  ten  miles  away.  I  '11 
tell  you  a  little  then  if  you  care  to  hear."  And  starting 
his  engine,  he  engaged  the  clutch,  moved  fifty  yards, 
and  they  were  once  more  immersed  in  the  low,  impene- 
trable forest. 

During  luncheon  Orville  talked  of  his  career.  It 
seemed  to  Claire  —  this  story  of  a  boy,  starting  out  al- 


268  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

most  as  God  had  brought  him  into  the  world,  and 
achieving  while  still  young  the  power  and  influence  of 
wealth  —  a  strange  and  fascinating  tale,  under  the  in- 
fluence, as  she  still  was,  of  that  recent  realization  of  her 
own  defenselessness. 

He  revealed  himself  as  she  had  not  fully  understood 
him  before,  a  powerful  and  determined  personality,  and 
as  she  listened  she  thought  of  Mallette's  history,  and  the 
story  of  his  renunciation  seemed  drab  and  unreal  com- 
pared to  the  color  and  daring  of  Orville's  achievements. 
Mallette,  having  all,  had  thrown  that  all  away.  Orville's 
struggles  gave  point  to  the  real  value  of  what  Mallette 
had  so  lightly  cast  aside;  and  it  seemed  to  Claire  that 
while  one  may  value  material  things  too  much,  Mallette, 
through  some  defect  of  character,  had  valued  them  too 
little.  And  in  Orville's  story  there  was  pathos  too  —  to 
Claire  —  Orville  himself  was  plainly  unaware  of  it,  al- 
though from  the  first  he  possessed  those  indomitable 
traits  which  seemed  to  clothe  him  in  armor. 

When  at  last  they  came  out  from  the  shaded  restau- 
rant into  the  torrid  glare  of  the  summer  afternoon,  it  was 
four  o'clock,  and  they  were  thirty  miles  from  Atlantic 
City.  Occasional  rumblings  of  thunder  still  sounded, 
and  dark  clouds  had  begun  to  gather  on  the  horizon. 
The  car  darted  forward  toward  the  coast  under  Orville's 
skillful  driving.  Claire  settled  herself  in  the  low  seat 
beside  him.  The  rush  of  the  wind  cooled  her  face,  and  the 
subdued,  rhythmic  murmur  of  the  engine  soothed  her 
senses.    Orville's  story  still  seethed  in  her  imagination. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  269 

They  reached  the  coast  and  turned  south.  A  curtain 
of  black  clouds,  shot  momentarily  with  tortuous  threads 
of  lightning,  hung  to  the  west,  against  which  the  sea- 
gulls whirled  like  bits  of  paper,  dazzling  white.  The 
curtain  of  cloud  swept  nearer.  The  reverberations  of 
thunder  grew  more  ominous.  Orville  increased  his 
speed.  Claire  could  feel  at  times  the  muscular  tension 
of  his  strong  arm  as  he  held  the  wheel.  The  wind  dashed 
against  her  face,  and  a  strong  exhilaration  seized  her. 
Great  and  wild  forces  seemed  to  surround  her;  the 
storm,  the  whirling  seagulls,  the  wind,  the  powerful 
surge  of  the  car,  and  that  strong,  purposeful,  and  yet 
mysterious  man  who  sat  beside  her. 

Orville,  quickly  withdrawing  his  gaze  for  a  moment 
from  the  road,  turned  it  to  her,  and  said,  "Did  my  story 
interest  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  Claire  answered,  "so  much!" 

"You  don't  think  any  the  less  of  me?"  Claire  looked 
at  him  in  astonishment : 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Some  women  would,"  he  said. 

They  had  reached  the  city,  and  as  he  turned  into  the 
road  leading  to  Claire's  hotel,  drops  of  rain  began  to 
fall,  the  thunder-clouds  had  darkened  the  sky,  and  the 
preliminary  gusts  of  wind,  indicating  that  the  storm  was 
on  them,  blew  through  the  streets. 

"I  have  never  told  it  before  to  man  or  woman, 
barring  an  anecdote  or  two  here  and  there,"  said 
Orville.    "I  told  you  because  I  knew  it  would  make  no 


270  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

difference  in  your  opinion  of  me,  whatever  that  might 
be." 

"It  was  wonderfully  interesting,"  Claire  answered. 

The  car  stopped  before  the  door  of  the  hotel. 

"May  I  come  and  see  you  to-morrow  afternoon?" 

Orville  had  sat  motionless  in  the  car  for  a  moment  be- 
fore making  this  request;  and  this  slight  action  seemed 
to  invest  it  with  a  peculiar  significance. 

Claire  suddenly  felt  herself  in  the  clutches  of  a  strange 
embarrassment;  she  bent  her  head  to  hide  a  flush  which 
she  knew  had  risen  to  her  cheeks,  and,  vexed  at  herself 
for  it,  answered  stumblingly : 

"Yes  —  please  —  do  come!" 

At  the  desk  she  found  a  letter  from  George. 

The  syndicate  he  had  already  mentioned,  which  had 
been  considering  the  purchase  of  the  works,  had  decided 
to  take  them.  The  terms  were  not  what  he  would  have 
liked,  but  it  was  a  timely  chance,  and  properties  of  that 
kind  are  always  hard  to  sell.  In  addition  a  purchaser 
had  been  found  for  the  Ninth  Street  house,  who  would 
take  it  as  it  stood,  except,  of  course,  their  personal  ef- 
fects. It  was  an  opportunity  which  might  not  occur 
again.  With  the  money  raised  from  these  two  transac- 
tions, and  from  the  other  assets,  he  thought  that  the 
creditors  would  be  paid,  barring,  of  course,  members  of 
the  family.  Aunt  Caroline's  estate  had  a  very  large  claim 
against  both  Uncle  Edward  and  the  company,  as  had 
she  and  Jamie.  The  purchaser  of  the  house  was  in  no 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  271 

especial  hurry  for  it,  and  he  (George)  would  make  ar- 
rangements to  keep  the  servants  on,  so  that  Claire  could 
stay  away  as  long  as  she  chose  and  take  as  much  time  as 
she  might  want  to  pack  in  a  leisurely  manner.  Claire 
stopped. 

"Oh,  Jamie!"  she  cried. 

They  had  gone  to  their  rooms,  and  she  could  see 
Jamie,  who  was  dressing  for  dinner,  standing  before  his 
mirror,  tying  a  cravat. 

The  storm  had  begun,  and  the  sound  of  the  torrents 
of  rain  beating  against  their  windows  was  broken  mo- 
mentarily by  sharp  peals  of  thunder. 

"What  is  it?"  answered  Jamie,  turning  at  the  pain  in 
her  voice,  and  coming  into  their  sitting-room. 

"They  have  sold  the  house." 

"Then  haven't  we  any  place  to  go?"  he  cried 
quickly. 

"We  may  have  it  for  a  few  weeks,  to  pack  —  but  after 
that—!" 

After  that,  what?  Her  absolute  inability  to  answer 
the  question  appalled  her.  Her  very  good  sense  enabled 
her  to  realize  the  difficulties  which  another  woman  —  in 
fact,  most  women  —  would  be  inclined  to  minimize. 
She  did  not  for  a  moment  imagine  that  George,  or  even 
her  Aunt  Adelaide,  or  other  relatives  more  distant, 
would  allow  either  herself  or  Jamie  to  starve.  Her  ques- 
tionings did  not  descend  to  such  ultimate  foundations, 
but  the  sale  of  the  Ninth  Street  house  showed  that  the 
image  and  nucleus  of  her  old  life  were  to  be  swept  away, 


272  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

and  that  something  must  be  faced,  so  new,  strange,  and 
difficult,  that  she  shrank  from  it  with  instinctive  dread. 

"But,  Claire,  what  is  to  become  of  us?" 

"We  shall  get  along  somehow.  Other  people  have.  I 
have  two  thousand  dollars." 

"Surely  not  much,  Claire!" 

"No,  not  much.  We  must  n't  stay  here  now,  Jamie, 
it's  so  expensive;  we  must  go  back  at  once." 

"If  my  opera  was  only  finished!" 

"Yes,  but  they  say  it  takes  so  long  —  such  things." 

"And  the  clever  George,  of  course,  has  taken  care  of 
George!" 

"Hush,  Jamie!" 

"He  might  divide  that  hundred  thousand  with  us, 
but  of  course  he  won't." 

"I  won't  hear  you  say  such  things,  Jamie.  It  is 
his." 

"Very  well,"  Jamie  answered  gloomily,  "but  it's  ours 
too.  Well,  let's  go  down  to  dinner.  When  had  we  better 
go  back  to  town?" 

"To-morrow  morning.  I  will  tell  them  to-night  that 
we  are  going." 

"But  Orville  is  coming  to-morrow  afternoon!" 

"I'll  telephone  that  I  shall  not  be  here.  Will  you 
look  up  the  trains  after  dinner,  Jamie?" 

Dinner  passed  almost  in  silence.  During  it  the  storm 
passed,  and  Claire,  going  up  to  her  room,  saw  from  her 
window  a  drenched  world  below,  and  above  a  stretch  of 
calm  evening  sky,  with  the  thinnest,  thread-like  cres- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  273 

cent  of  a  new  moon  hung  in  its  blue  depths  —  a  symbol 
whose  meaning  she  could  not  read. 

Jamie  had  gone  in  search  of  time-tables,  and  putting 
on  her  hat  she  went  quickly  out,  eager  to  stand  in  the 
benignant  quietude  of  the  evening.  The  promenade  was 
still  deserted.  The  sea  moved  lazily  and  the  strings  of 
electric  lights  shone  like  pale  pearls,  robbed  as  they 
were  of  their  brilliance  by  the  flush  of  the  afterglow, 
which  seemed  reluctant  to  withdraw  its  magic  radiance 
from  the  world. 

Claire  walked  slowly,  stopping  at  times  to  look  out 
over  the  ocean.  Something  in  the  unearthly  beauty  of 
the  afterglow,  tinting  the  distances  of  sky  and  sea,  which 
spread  their  immensities  above  and  beyond  her,  woke 
in  her  a  sudden  sense  of  the  pathos  of  human  endeavor, 
and  again  she  searched  for  its  meaning. 

Far  into  the  future  this  panorama  of  beauty  would 
recur  for  the  coming  ages.  New  generations  would  live, 
new  races  develop,  new  cities  rise,  destined  in  time  to 
give  way  to  still  other  cities,  other  generations,  other 
races,  an  endless  succession,  while  the  panorama  of  the 
master-builder  moved  eternally  in  its  slow  procession 
—  but  why?  —  for  what  purpose?  —  and  as  youth  is 
wont,  Claire,  with  troubled  eyes,  asked  herself  these 
unanswerable  questions. 

She  moved  on,  too  absorbed  to  notice  Orville's  figure, 
leaning  against  the  balustrade  of  the  promenade,  until  he 
spoke  to  her.  He  had  been  looking  out,  as  Claire  had 
been,  over  the  sea.   Claire  joined  him. 


274  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"I  was  going  to  telephone  you,  when  I  got  back  to  the 
hotel,  that  I  would  not  be  here  to-morrow  afternoon," 
she  said.  "We  are  going  back  to  town  in  the  morning." 

"Going  back!"  Orville  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  unmis- 
takable surprise. 

"We  really  should  n't  stay  any  longer,  Mr.  Orville," 
Claire  answered.  "In  town  there  are  so  many  things  to 
be  done." 

"I  had  hoped  that  you  might  have  begun  to  look  on 
me  as  an  old  and  good  friend,"  began  Orville. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do,"  Claire  returned  quickly. 

"And  that  perhaps  I  might  sometime  be  of  use  to 

you." 

Claire  was  silent.  She  felt  perhaps  for  the  first  time 
the  need  of  guidance,  of  support.  She  longed  to  confide 
in  him,  but  held  back  by  her  natural  reserve,  was  still 
reluctant  to. 

"Tell  me,  Claire,"  he  said;  but  before  she  could  speak, 
he  added: 

"No,  don't  tell  me  until  I  have  told  you  something 
first.  Claire,  let  me  take  care  of  you.  Have  n't  you  seen 
that  I  love  you?  Do  you  remember  the  day  I  first  dined 
at  your  house?  When  your  brother  waved  to  you  from 
our  bus,  and  I  saw  you  for  the  first  time,  I  told  myself 
that  somehow  I  must  get  to  know  you.  Even  if  you  had 
been  a  total  stranger  to  both  of  us,  and  I  had  had  only 
that  passing  glimpse  of  you,  somehow  I  would  have 
found  you.  You  may  think  what  I  have  said  extrava- 
gant, but  I  am  like  that.  I  do  not  want  tilings  through 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  275 

any  passing  whim,  but  because  I  know  instinctively 
what  my  nature  needs,  and  what  it  is  fitted  for.  Let  me 
take  care  of  you,  Claire!" 

Orville  paused.  Claire  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  for  a 
moment,  those  violet  eyes  whose  glance  always  enrap- 
tured him  with  an  Aesthetic  rapture  —  and  dropped 
them  again. 

"Do  you  really  love  me?"  she  murmured. 

They  were  still  standing  alone  against  the  balustrade, 
half  facing  the  sea.  The  afterglow  had  faded  at  last, 
leaving  them  enveloped  in  the  first  blue  curtain  of  the 
night.  Orville  took  one  of  her  hands  in  his;  but  at  this 
action  she  seemed  to  move  from  him  a  step,  withdrew  her 
hand,  and  exclaimed,  almost  with  a  kind  of  soft  terror — - 

"No,  no." 

"Forgive  me,"  Orville  answered  quickly.  "Have  I 
offended  you?" 

And  again  Claire  answered,  "No." 

"You  don't  know  how  many  times  I  have  wanted  to 
tell  you.  You  asked  me  a  moment  ago  whether  I  really 
loved  you.  What  can  I  say  —  except  'yes/  and  what 
does  that  *yes'  amount  to,  unless  I  can  prove  it  to  you 
by  deeds?  Don't  go  back,  Claire!  Surely  you  know, 
after  what  I  have  told  you,  that  I  came  here  because  I 
knew  that  you  were  here.  Come,  let  me  tell  you  frankly, 
I  know  what  is  worrying  you.  Let  me  sweep  all  that 
away  —  because  I  can  —  with  one  sweep  of  my  hand, 
brush  it  all  away  forever.  I  have  thought  so  much  about 
it  —  and  Jamie !  I  can,  and  would  want  to  do,  so  much 


276  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

for  him.  I  must  n't  boast,  but  I  have  a  good  deal  of  in- 
fluence. I  would  help  him,  anyway,  of  course,  but  doing 
it  together  would  be  such  pleasure  —  there  are  so  many 
things  we  could  do  together.  And  I  would  keep  you  so 
safe  —  not  restricted  —  don't  misunderstand  me  —  be- 
cause in  that  way  you  would  be  free  as  air  —  but  so  safe 
against  all  the  rough  and  difficult  places;  and  let  me  tell 
you  that  I  know  how  rough  and  difficult  life  can  be.  It 
would  make  me  so  happy,  keeping  you  safe  from  harm. 
You  would  be  so  safe,  and  yet  so  free." 

"I  know,"  Claire  answered  at  last;  "you  would  give 
me  so  much,  and  I  have  nothing!" 

"You  would  give  me  something  worth  more  than  all 
that  I  could  possibly  give  you." 

"And  Jamie,  too!" 

"Do  you  know  what  my  life  is  like?"  Orville  asked. 
"It  is  the  loneliest  possible.  Come,  you  and  Jamie,  and 
drive  my  loneliness  away.   Give  me  your  hand." 

Claire,  without  an  impulse  of  opposition,  extended  her 
hand,  and,  taking  it,  he  kissed  it,  seized  her  shoulders 
with  a  strong  and  yet  careful  grasp,  and  drawing  her 
slightly  toward  him,  said  — 

"Look  at  me." 

In  the  fading  light  he  saw  her  eyes  again  looking  at 
him,  a  little  defiant,  a  little  frightened;  and  releasing 
her,  he  closed  his  hands,  as  if  in  supplication. 

"Will  you  come,  Claire,  you  and  Jamie?  "  And  stoop- 
ing to  listen  he  heard  her  "Yes,"  almost  inaudible, 
mingled  as  it  was  with  the  lazy  tumbling  of  the  breakers. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"The  cook  wants  to  know  if  you  will  be  home  to  lunch, 


ma'am." 


This  from  Maggie,  who,  clothed  in  an  extremely  tight 
black  dress,  with  strikingly  smart  apron  and  wrist- 
bands, had  knocked  at  Claire's  door. 

"No,  I  shall  not.  I  thought  I  had  told  her,"  Claire 
answered. 

She  was  standing  before  her  mirror,  adjusting  a  hat, 
but  she  turned  to  give  Maggie  an  appraising  look. 
Maggie,  whose  bosom,  while  larger  than  ever,  looked 
almost  genteel  in  its  black,  buttoned  rigidity,  and  whose 
reddish  hair  was  done  up  with  a  neatness  unknown  in  the 
past,  retreated  from  the  door  and  collided  with  a  smart, 
slim  Swedish  parlor-maid.  The  parlor-maid  caromed 
from  Maggie's  solid  form  and  they  exchanged  supercili- 
ous glances.  The  parlor-maid  knocked  at  the  door. 

"Yes!"  Claire  answered. 

"Mr.  Matsuki  would  like  to  know  if  you  will  be  home 
to  lunch,  ma'am,"  she  asked;  Matsuki  being  the  Japan- 
ese butler. 

"No,  I  shall  not.  I  am  going  out  now  and  shall  prob- 
ably not  be  back  until  seven." 

The  parlor-maid  closed  the  door  and  withdrew.  Claire, 
not  liking  the  hat,  took  it  off  with  a  slight  exclama- 
tion of  dissatisfaction  and  elaborate  precautions  against 


278  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

disarranging  her  hair,  returned  it  to  the  box  from  which 
she  had  taken  it,  and  after  a  glance  at  a  tiny  wrist- 
watch,  sat  down  in  a  padded  chair  which  stood  by  one 
of  the  windows.  It  was  early,  and  she  need  not  hurry. 
A  winter  had  passed  since  she  and  Jamie  had  gone  to 
Atlantic  City,  and  the  forces  of  spring  would  soon  be 
stirring  once  more  in  the  trees  of  the  adjacent  square. 
She  was  in  the  Ninth  Street  house,  but  it  had  been 
changed  beyond  recognition.  Orville  had  been  its  pur- 
chaser. Claire  had  been  touched  and  very  grateful 
when  he  told  her,  but  his  additional  statement  that  he 
had  already  let  contracts  for  its  entire  renovation  had 
dismayed  her.  Hardly  anything  but  the  walls  was  to  be 
retained.  The  old  home  was  to  pass  away  and  yet  Or- 
ville's  evident  belief  that  Claire  would  enjoy  this  trans- 
formation, prevented  her  from  protesting.  The  bed- 
room in  which  she  sat  was  on  the  floor  below  the  one  she 
had  originally  occupied  —  one  flight  up  instead  of  two 

—  and  until  the  previous  summer  had  not  existed  at  all. 
It  had  been  added  to  the  house  immediately  over  the 
library,  adjoining  what  had  been  the  large  rear  bedroom 

—  Caroline's,  in  fact.  Claire  therefore  had  a  complete 
suite.  Caroline's  former  bedroom  was  now  her  sitting- 
room,  her  new  bedroom  opened  from  it,  and  opening 
from  one  side  of  the  new  bedroom  a  superb  bathroom 
had  been  built.  These  changes  had  seemed  absolutely 
necessary  to  Orville,  who  wished  to  see  Claire's  beauty 
installed  in  a  commensurate  setting. 

In  stating  that  Claire's  bedroom  was  now  one  flight 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  279 

up  instead  of  two,  a  slight  error  has  been  committed. 
While  it  had  been  moved  down  one  flight,  the  entrance 
to  the  house  had  also  been  moved  down,  so  that  she  was 
still  two  flights  from  the  entrance  door. 

The  shifting  of  the  entrance  door  had  been  accom- 
plished by  removing  the  old  high  stoop,  building  a  win- 
dow where  the  former  front  door  had  been,  and  making 
the  main  entrance  to  the  house  in  the  basement  floor. 
Edward's  den  had  been  transformed  into  an  entrance 
hall,  and  the  drawing-room  above  now  occupied  the 
whole  front  of  the  house.  A  passage  had  been  built  so 
that  the  dining-room  could  be  reached  without  the 
necessity  of  going  through  the  library,  as  formerly,  and 
this  had  become  Orville's  study.  Orville's  private  suite 
was  on  the  same  floor  as  Claire's :  the  small  front  room, 
his  bedroom,  the  large  front  room,  his  sitting-  and 
dressing-room  from  which  his  bathroom,  old,  but  trans- 
mogrified, opened,  lighted  by  a  shaft  from  above. 

Jamie  still  occupied  his  old  quarters.  He  had  been 
offered  Claire's  former  room,  but  had  declined  it.  He 
liked  his  own  best. 

Claire  watched  these  operations  —  while  acceding  to 
them  because  Orville  so  obviously  wanted  them  and  was 
so  obviously  certain  that  Claire  wanted  them  too  — 
with  a  double  misgiving.  First,  because  every  vestige 
of  the  old  house  —  the  home  she  loved  —  was  disap- 
pearing, and  second,  because,  brought  up  in  the  careful 
Nicholson  tradition,  it  seemed  unwise  to  spend  so  much 
in  a  district  which  was  clearly  declining  in  value  as  a 


280  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

residential  quarter;  but  to  Orville  money  was  plainly 
not  a  thing  to  be  conserved  with  care  or  expended  cau- 
tiously. Orville,  as  if  possessed  of  some  secret  magic  by 
which  money  could  be  instantly  and  without  effort 
created  out  of  nothing,  seemed  to  regard  the  most  ex- 
travagant expenditure,  even  at  the  inflated  prices  of  the 
moment,  with  unconcern.  Finally  an  electric  lift  had 
been  installed,  and  a  new  story  built  at  the  top  of  the 
house  for  the  accommodation  of  the  additional  servants 
required  under  the  new  regime. 

Claire  sat  in  her  low  chair  and  looked  out.  The  tene- 
ments were  still  there,  unchanged,  except  that  they 
seemed  older,  shabbier,  and  more  dejected.  This  may 
have  been  because  her  new  room  was  twenty  feet  nearer 
than  the  old.  Although  it  was  March  the  day  was  so 
unusually  mild  that  their  windows  were  open  once  more, 
and  once  more  their  varied  sounds  assaulted  her  ears. 

Claire,  who  was  beginning  to  know  life  as  she  had  not 
known  it  before,  sitting  with  her  chair  pushed  back  a 
little,  so  that  she  would  not  easily  attract  attention, 
watched  curiously. 

In  the  rooms  from  which  the  crowded  family  had  dis- 
appeared so  suddenly  the  summer  before,  a  stout  old 
woman  with  a  sardonic  countenance  was  leaning  idly 
out  of  the  windows,  smoking  a  clay  pipe,  and  resting  on 
a  pillow  which  she  had  placed  on  the  sill.  Lolling  in  this 
way,  on  pillows,  was  a  common  tenement  practice, 
Claire  had  observed.  Behind  her,  Claire  could  see  a 
young  woman  who  continually  interrupted  her  opera- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  281 

tions  on  a  cooking-stove  to  cuff  and  push  a  number  of 
children  who  were  moving  about  in  the  two  dirty 
rooms. 

Directly  opposite,  and  on  the  same  level,  a  little 
swarthy  creature  with  dense,  blue-black  Latin  hair  was 
rocking  a  baby  who  cried  persistently  as  Claire  looked. 
This  little  dark  creature  caught  sight  of  her  and  with  a 
quick  movement  darted  beyond  the  range  of  her  vision. 
The  cries  of  babies  and  the  voices  of  children  generally, 
crying  and  shouting,  rose  from  many  places.  The  houses 
seemed  full  of  them.  So  nature  worked,  demanding 
greater  fecundity  where  the  process  of  living  was  more 
difficult. 

Claire  had  matured,  grown  handsomer,  and  a  little 
heavier.  She  had  developed  in  fact  into  a  superb  and 
formidable  beauty. 

She  got  up  presently,  looked  again  at  her  watch,  pro- 
duced another  hat,  put  it  on,  and  descended  the  stairs. 
The  stairway,  instead  of  running  straight  down  as  be- 
fore, descended  in  a  graceful  curve  —  the  old  solid  wal- 
nut banisters  had  given  way  to  a  light  Louis  XVI  railing 
in  iron  —  and  came  to  an  end  in  a  square  central  hall. 
Claire  crossed  this  room  and  descended  to  the  entrance 
hall  by  another  graceful  curve.  The  Japanese  butler, 
with  a  smiling  and  harmonious  manner,  opened  the  front 
door,  and  as  he  did  so  a  footman  opened  the  door  of  a  lit- 
tle jewel  of  a  motor  which  stood  waiting  for  her.  This 
motor,  in  fact,  shining  with  polished  brass  and  lacquer, 
resembled  not  a  jewel  so  much  as  a  casket  for  one. 


282  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

Claire,  the  jewel,  entered,  sank  into  its  cushions,  the 
footman  mounted  beside  the  chauffeur,  and  the  jewel 
casket  glided  away. 

This  procedure  was  witnessed  secretly  every  day  by 
most  of  the  ladies  of  the  block  if  they  happened  to  be 
at  home,  and  each  had  subconsciously  admitted  that  if 
they  had  not  known  Claire  so  well,  such  lavish  magnifi- 
cence in  such  a  retired  part  of  town  would  have  led 
them  to  conjecture  that  Orville  had  installed  among 
them  one  of  those  ladies  who  under  all  circumstances 
delight  in  showing  that  they  are  being  well  paid  for  their 
services.  Claire,  too,  was  beginning  to  have  thoughts  of 
this  nature,  and  as  the  chauffeur,  obeying  instructions 
communicated  to  him  by  the  footman  who  had  received 
them  from  Claire,  guided  the  motor  suavely  up  the 
Avenue,  she  began  to  review  the  past  eighteen  months 
since  that  blessed  demonstration  on  the  Avenue  when 
it  was  thought  the  war  was  over  and  which  seemed  so 
fraught  with  promise  for  the  future.  And  what  had 
that  future  brought!  Increasing  unrest  and  turbulence. 
Vast  social  upheavals,  the  old  tyrannies  renewed,  re- 
bellions, strikes,  wars  still  progressing  in  many  places, 
hunger,  starvation,  plagues,  cynical  indifference,  and 
people  like  herself  immersed  in  a  kind  of  fabulous  lux- 
ury out  of  all  harmony  with  the  essence  of  the  time. 

The  motor  stopped  before  a  large  building  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Forty-Second  Street  which  Claire  en- 
tered. At  sight  of  her,  the  liveried  creature  whose  intel- 
lectual duty  it  was  to  see  that  the  elevators  observed 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  283 

some  kind  of  periodic  intervals  between  arrival  and 
departure,  approached  with  an  agitated,  slavish  defer- 
ence, bowed  obsequiously,  hurriedly  led  the  way  to 
a  waiting  elevator,  ushered  Claire  into  it,  banged  the 
door  in  the  faces  of  a  number  of  people  hurrying  for 
it,  and  signaled  the  operator  to  ascend.  The  starter's 
agitation  having  communicated  itself  to  the  operator, 
he  obeyed  nervously,  started  the  car  so  suddenly  that 
Claire's  knees  almost  gave  way  beneath  her,  shot  to  the 
third  floor,  and,  fumbling  with  the  lock,  finally  suc- 
ceeded in  sliding  back  the  door,  which  opened  immedi- 
ately into  a  classic  but  spacious  vestibule  lined  with 
marble,  in  which  a  robust  young  lady  with  blondined 
hair  sat  before  a  telephone  switchboard. 

This  switchboard  was  not  of  the  usual  commercial 
type  produced  by  an  unimaginative  telephone  company, 
but  of  a  special,  elegant,  classic  design,  as  was  the  chair 
in  which  the  operator  sat. 

A  classic  bench  with  a  deep-blue  velvet  cushion  sup- 
ported the  forms  of  three  weary  youths,  and  a  number  of 
men  of  the  super-prosperous  business  type  paced  rest- 
lessly about  while  waiting  evidently  a  summons  to  enter 
one  of  the  three  doors  which  gave  access  from  Orville's 
vestibule  to  Orville's  offices.  Two  of  these  three  doors 
were  momentarily  opening  and  closing  to  give  egress  or 
ingress  to  hurrying  employees  or  other  super-prosper- 
ous business  men. 

Above  the  classic  bench  a  large  panel,  let  into  the 
marble  wall  and  framed  in  a  carved  border,  displayed 


284  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

in  elegant  gilt  lettering  the  names  of  a  long  list  of 
corporations : 

The  Alodine  Utilities  Co. 

The  Alaska  Navigation  and  Developing  Co. 

The  North  Star  Light  and  Power  Co. 

The  Labrador  and  Northwestern  Railway  Co. 

The  Fantail  Copper  Co. 

—  and  a  dozen  others.  These  were  Orville's  companies. 

Claire  stepped  into  this  scene  of  business  vigor  with 
some  confusion.  She  had  never  previously  taken  either 
of  the  three  elevators  which  opened  into  Orville's  ves- 
tibule, but  a  fourth,  which  gave  access  to  a  passage 
beyond  one  of  the  three  doors  already  mentioned,  which 
led  immediately  to  Orville's  private  room.  The  starter 
had  evidently  made  a  mistake  scarcely  excusable  even 
for  his  limited  intelligence.  At  her  appearance  the 
weary  youths,  still  of  an  age  which  kindled  only  to  cer- 
tain flapper  ideals,  remained  as  weary  and  impassive  as 
ever;  but  each  super-prosperous  business  man  straight- 
ened himself  slightly,  congratulated  himself  that  his 
clothes  were  faultless,  his  hair  properly  trimmed,  and 
his  finger-nails  brightly  polished,  and  with  an  energetic 
gesture  removed  his  hat,  although  all  had  been  wearing 
them  in  the  presence  of  the  switchboard  operator,  who 
was  really  quite  handsome,  too,  although,  of  course, 
not  obviously  super-prosperous,  as  was  Claire. 

Although  Claire  had  never  —  that  she  could  remem- 
ber —  seen  the  telephone  operator  before,  the  latter 
rose  smilingly,  saying,  "I  guess  you  must  have  taken 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  285 

the  wrong  elevator,  Mrs.  Orville";  and  opened  the  door 
which  led  to  Orville's  private  room. 

Orville  really  had  two  private  rooms;  one  in  which  he 
carried  on  all  the  meetings,  conferences,  and  discussions 
of  his  multifarious  schemes;  directed,  dictated,  tele- 
phoned, and  held  general  sway;  and  another  inner  room 
which  he  allowed  few  to  enter,  and  of  which  indeed  few 
knew  the  existence.  It  was  this  latter  room  which  was 
reached  by  the  fourth  elevator  and  the  private  passage. 
Orville  came  and  went  in  this  way,  and  Claire,  too,  on 
her  occasional  visits,  but  no  one  else.  If  she  found  the 
room  empty,  she  pressed  a  button  which  rang  a  little 
bell  in  his  outer  office.  If  he  did  not  respond,  by  going 
into  the  outer  office  and  pressing  another  bell,  she  could 
summon  a  good-looking  female  secretary  who  could  tell 
her  whether  Orville  had  gone  out  or  was  in  some  other 
part  of  the  office.  On  this  occasion  Claire  touched  the 
little  button,  and  as  Orville  did  not  answer  she  pushed 
open  the  door  of  the  inner  office  and  was  about  to  enter, 
when  the  door  leading  to  the  outer  offices  burst  open 
and  Orville  darted  in,  hurried  to  his  desk,  and  called  a 
number  into  the  mouthpiece  of  the  telephone  —  "Hello! 
Just  a  moment,  Claire.  Come  in!"  And  he  began  to 
give  unintelligible,  rapid  instructions  to  some  unknown 
being,  listening  presumably,  in  some  unknown  cubicle 
of  the  ten  million  which  house  the  dwellers  of  the  city. 
He  finished  presently,  sprang  up,  and  came  around  to 
Claire,  beckoning  her  into  the  inner  room. 

"How  pretty  you  look." 


286  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

He  drew  her  to  him  with  a  strong  pressure,  and  kissed 
her,  first  her  cheek,  then  her  lips. 

"Don't,  Dudley,  some  one  might  come  in." 

"No  one  comes  here,"  Orville  answered;  and  he 
kissed  her  again. 

"But,  Dudley,  they  might  —  " 

"Do  you  suppose  I  have  n't  seen  to  it  that  I  may  kiss 
my  wife  without  being  found  out!"  And  seating  him- 
self he  drew  her  irresistibly  to  his  knee. 

Claire  blushed  and  attempted  to  release  herself. 

"Please,  Dudley,  I  shall  be  angry!" 

Orville  released  her  and  sprang  up. 

"Why?  Stay  and  lunch  with  me.  I  can't  go  out,  but 
I  '11  have  something  sent  in.  Come,  we  '11  be  very  cozy." 

"No,  Dudley;  Helena  is  lunching  with  me  at  Del- 
monico's  and  we're  going  to  the  matinee.  I  came  for 
some  money.  It's  Saturday;  the  bank  is  closed  and  I 
find  I  have  n't  any." 

"Have  you  anything  there  to  draw,  even  if  it  were 
open?  Come  now!" 

"Oh,  plenty,"  answered  Claire.  "I  don't  spend  my 
allowance,  nearly." 

Orville  took  a  note  from  his  pocket-book  and  handed 
it  to  her. 

"Good  gracious,  how  reckless  you  are!  How  can  I 
spend  a  hundred  dollars  on  luncheon?  Give  me  ten. 
Are  you  made  of  money?" 

"It's  simply  been  rolling  in,  Claire.  Do  you  know, 
sometimes  I  say  to  myself,  'Why  don't  you  try  some- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  287 

thing  that's  really  difficult?  This  game  has  got  to  be 
too  easy  for  you!'  But  it's  the  only  one  worth  while." 

"The  only  one"  —  began  Claire  —  "In  times  like 
this—!" 

"There's  only  one  other  —  politics  —  and  the  poli- 
ticians have  to  come  to  us." 

"But,  now,  Dudley,  with  the  world  so  hurt,  so  mad- 
dened with  suffering,  we  don't  want  politics.  We 
want  just  brotherly  kindness  and  help." 

"Look  here,  Claire,  there's  too  much  sentimental 
nonsense  of  that  sort  nowadays.  The  war  gave  us  an 
advantage  and  gave  us  money.  Let's  keep  them. 
They'll  be  trying  to  get  them  away  from  us  soon 
enough." 

"Oh,  as  if  that  were  everything,  Dudley,"  began 
Claire,  alive  to  the  inadequacy  of  Orville's  pronounce- 
ment. 

Orville  thought  —  "What  a  beauty!"  and  said  to 
himself,  "Why  are  n't  you  satisfied?  What  more  do 
you  want!" 

Her  little  brown,  pointed  slippers,  her  gown,  her 
gloves,  her  hat,  her  figure,  her  complexion,  her  eyes, 
her  hair,  were  all  perfect. 

"Don't  bother  your  head  about  such  things,"  he  said 
—  "kiss  me."  And  he  sought  her  lips,  once  more  press- 
ing her  to  him,  and  perhaps  detecting  a  concealed  re- 
luctance in  Claire's  submission,  he  asked,  "Are  you 
displeased  with  me  for  making  money?" 

"When  you  give  me  such  lovely  things!  Why,  Dud- 


288  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

ley!   Besides,  you  started  it!"    And  she  moved  away 
from  him.   "I  must  go  now." 

"One  more  kiss,"  Orville  demanded;  and  as  Claire 
hesitated  almost  imperceptibly,  he  grasped  her  once 
more  and  drew  her  to  him. 

Claire  found  Helena  sitting  in  the  lounge  when  she 
reached  Delmonico's  and  apologized  for  being  late, 
saying  that  Orville  had  kept  her. 

"If  I  were  Dudley  I  would  keep  you  too,"  Helena 
answered  with  a  laugh  which  annoyed  Claire.  "You 
are  growing  so  handsome,  Claire.  If  I  were  a  man  I 
should  love  you!"  And  Helena  made  eyes  at  her.  "Oh, 
Claire,  how  does  it  seem,  being  loved  by  such  a  strong 
creature  as  Dudley?  What  would  make  it  more  fasci- 
nating about  Dudley  is  that  one  could  never  be  sure  of 
him." 

They    seated   themselves    and    Helena   rattled   on: 

"Perhaps  I  shouldn't  have  said  that.  But  what  I 
meant  was  that  any  man  like  Dudley,  so  strong  and 
self-reliant,  is  more  or  less  a  law  unto  himself.  I  was  n't 
thinking  of  Dudley  especially,  and,  oh,  Claire,  I  have 
met  such  a  fascinating  man  —  a  Polish  officer  —  a  per- 
fect warrior  type  —  such  a  chest,  and  such  biceps !  He 
let  me  touch  them  —  they  felt  like  iron  under  his  coat- 
sleeves." 

"Good  Heavens!"  thought  Claire.  "If  she  is  going 
to  talk  about  men  I  shall  be  bored  to  death." 

"Claire!  There  he  is  now!  Don't  look  until  I  tell  you! 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  289 

I  don't  want  him  to  see  me  to-day,  I'm  sure  I'm  not 
looking  well.  Now,  Claire,  straight  across  between 
those  two  tables  —  the  small  dark  one  sitting  with  the 
tall  blond." 

Claire  looked,  and  could  not  help  laughing.   She  saw 
a  short,  thick-set,  powerful-looking  man,  with  a  bullet- 
shaped  skull,  a  heavy,  blue-black  jowl,  incredibly  fierce 
mustaches,  and  a  very  low  forehead. 
,    "Helena,  you  don't  really  like  him!" 
;    "I  do;  he's  quite  fascinating,  and  such  a  flirt.  Some- 
times he  quite  frightens  me." 
i    "What  does  Aunt  Adelaide  think  of  him?" 

"You  don't  suppose  I'd  let  mamma  see  him,  do  you? 
She  does  n't  even  know  he  exists.  She  is  like  everybody 
else.  She  doesn't  approve  of  most  foreigners.  She 
thinks  the  only  people  worth  talking  about  are  the 
English.  You  cannot  blame  her.  A  woman  I  know  had 
an  affair  with  an  Italian  who  turned  out  to  be  nothing 
but  a  Milanese  photographer.  I  knew  him;  he  was  so 
distinguished-looking  and  had  such  good  manners  that 
any  one  would  have  thought  he  belonged  to  the  nobility." 

"I  don't  suppose  you  know  anything  about  your  Pole, 
do  you?" 

"But  this  woman  almost  married  her  Italian!  You 
don't  suppose  I'm  going  to  marry  him,  Claire?  But 
they  do  know  how  to  make  love  —  ah-h !  The  trouble 
is  that  none  of  them  have  any  money.  All  they  can 
manage  is  to  take  you  to  tea  sometimes,  and  you  always 
have  a  feeling  that  even  that  is  more  than  they  can 


290  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

afford.  You  may  be  sure  that  he  wouldn  't  be  here  now 
if  he  had  n't  been  invited.  The  tall  blond  he  is  with  is 
rather  fascinating,  don't  you  think?" 

Helena  accompanied  all  this  with  mannerisms  which 
were  characteristic  of  her;  sinuous  movements  of  her 
body  which  displayed  its  soft  and  rounded  contours 
under  the  close  draperies  of  her  fragile  gown,  while  from 
the  shadow  cast  by  her  wide  hat,  her  eyes,  with  slightly 
darkened  lashes,  showed  humid,  soft,  and  universally 
inviting. 

"Why,  there's  Jamie!"  Claire  exclaimed.  She  had 
seen  a  pair  of  sloping  shoulders  across  the  room,  and  a 
musicianly  profile  surmounted  by  a  cap  of  glossy  hair 
brushed  sleekly  backwards. 

"With  a  woman?"  asked  Helena. 

Claire  leaned  forward  —  "No,  it's  —  why,  yes,  it's 
Mr.  Mallette."  Jamie  had  seen  her,  and  was  waving  a 
greeting.  "Shall  we  ask  them  to  join  us?  They're  just 
beginning  their  coffee." 

"All  right,"  Helena  answered,  non-committally,  and 
Claire  signaled  Jamie. 

[  She  had  not  seen  Felix  Mallette  since  bidding  him 
good-bye  on  that  tragic  day,  but  through  Jamie  she 
bad  heard  of  him  from  time  to  time.  His  company 
had  been  unsuccessful  and  had  been  disbanded  some- 
where in  the  West  and  he  had  stayed  on  there.  Jamie 
thought  that  he  had  been  having  what  Jamie  said  he, 
Mallette,  would  have  called  a  "thin"  time.  Her  re- 
lationship with  him  had  never  been,  objectively,  other 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  291 

than  impersonal,  and  yet  she  had  been  conscious  from 
the  first  that  he  occupied  a  special  place  in  her  inner 
thoughts.  She  had  hardly  analyzed  this  feeling,  but  it 
had  always  remained  with  her,  faintly  enduring.  At 
first  after  her  marriage  she  had  not  thought  or  allowed 
herself  to  think  of  him,  but  since  her  relations  with 
Dudley  had  begun  to  cause  increasing  weariness  and 
discontent,  those  special  feelings  had  begun  to  return. 
Mallette  greeted  them  with  evident  pleasure  and 
flushed  slightly,  a  thing  Claire  knew  intuitively  he  did 
rarely,  and  some  subconscious  interchange  of  feeling, 
faint,  disturbing  and  yet  not  unpleasant,  seemed  to  pass 
between  them. 

"What  do  you  suppose  Mallette  has  done  with  the 
'Willow  of  Wei-hai-wei,?,'  Jamie  began  immediately 
when  greetings  had  been  exchanged  and  they  had  seated 
themselves  at  Claire's  table.  This  was  Jamie's  opera. 

"Is  some  one  going  to  put  it  on  for  you? "  Claire  cried 
delightedly. 

"Not  quite  as  good  as  that,"  Mallette  answered, 
"only  some  one  to  publish  the  waltz." 

"  Every  orchestra  in  town  will  be  playing  it  by  next 
autumn  —  perhaps!"  added  Jamie  and  hummed  a  bar 
or  two,  accompanying  himself  with  one  hand  on  the 
tablecloth. 

"Oh,  Jamie  dear,  that's  lovely!  You  must  be  very 
grateful  to  Mr.  Mallette." 

"Well,  rather  —  I  feel  like  celebrating  the  happy 
event." 


292  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

Jamie  always  felt  like  that,  but  since  Claire's  mar- 
riage his  celebrations  had  been  really  quite  innocent,  as 
far  as  Claire  knew.  Except  once.  Once  he  had  come 
home  quite  drunk,  and  had  in  this  condition  met  Dud- 
ley. There  had  been  no  half-measures  about  Dudley's 
treatment  of  the  situation.  If  it  happened  again  Jamie 
would  go  into  the  street,  to  shift  for  himself  without  one 
penny  to  help  him  from  either  Claire  or  Dudley  —  and 
both  Claire  and  Jamie  knew  that  he  would  do  precisely 
that,  and  that  promises  and  appeals  would  be  quite  use- 
less. Since  then  he  had  behaved  so  well  that  the  idea  of 
sending  him  to  Paris  had  been  almost  forgotten,  and  he 
was  studying  harmony  and  thoroughbass  at  a  local  con- 
servatory. 

"What  are  you  doing  this  afternoon,  Claire?" 

"Helena  and  I  are  going  to  a  matinee." 

"Let's  go,  too,  Mallette  —  I  know  we  have  n't  been 
asked,  but  the  theater's  surely  large  enough  for  four. 
What  are  your  seat  numbers,  Claire?" 

"Yes,  do  come;  you  might  be  able  to  get  seats  near 
us."  And  Claire  gave  him  the  numbers. 

A  page  appeared  at  Claire's  side,  saying  that  Mr. 
Orville  wanted  her  on  the  telephone.  Dudley  had  four 
seats  for  the  theater  that  evening,  and  suggested  that 
Claire  bring  Helena  back  for  dinner.  If  Jamie  could  n't 
make  a  fourth,  they  would  get  some  one  else  — 

"But  Helena  will  want  to  dress.  Men  never  seem  to 
understand  such  things." 

"Then  we  '11  call  for  her,  and  dine  uptown  somewhere." 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  293 

"Very  well;  and  we  just  happened  to  meet  Jamie.  He 
was  lunching  here.  If  he  can't  go,  I'll  let  you  know." 

Jamie  proposed  that  they  walk  to  the  theater,  which 
was  close  at  hand,  and  as  the  traffic  had  just  been 
halted  as  they  came  out,  he  darted  across  the  Avenue 
with  Helena.  Claire  and  Mallette  adopted  a  more  dig- 
nified pace.  Claire  knew  that  if  Dudley  had  seen  them 
he  would  not  have  approved.  When  Jamie  had  made 
his  suggestion  she  had  noticed,  too,  that  Helena  had  re- 
ceived it  coolly.  Her  first  infatuation  for  Mallette  had 
passed  completely.  Claire,  knowing  that  Helena  was 
always  absorbed  in  some  flirtation,  which  seemed  al- 
ways to  burn  itself  out  with  the  heatless  brilliance  of 
phosphorescence,  leaving  her  unscarred,  was  not  sur- 
prised at  her  indifference.  To  Helena  as  well  as  Dudley, 
Mallette  was  now  only  a  member  of  a  rather  dubious 
profession,  and  although  Claire  resented  this  attitude, 
it  made  her  uncomfortable,  and  she  felt  slightly  annoyed 
at  Jamie  for  being  responsible  for  placing  her  at 
Mallette's  side,  and  yet,  as  she  glanced  at  him,  this 
annoyance  melted  away  and  was  replaced  by  something 
sweet  —  a  sweetness  vague  but  faintly  terrifying  which 
seemed  to  seal  her  lips. 

At  the  theater  Claire  and  Helena  went  immediately 
to  their  seats.  Jamie  was  to  try  to  get  others  near  them, 
but  was  unsuccessful,  for  Claire  did  not  see  them  again 
until  they  were  coming  out. 

The  play  was  "Justice,"  Galsworthy's  exposition  of 
a  human  institution   which  the  accretions  of  genera- 


294  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

tions  have  distorted  out  of  human  shape.  Helena  asked 
why  on  earth  Claire  had  got  seats  for  anything  so 
lugubrious,  but  Claire  did  not  even  hear  her.  From  the 
first  line  she  was  impervious  to  any  sensation  outside 
those  conveyed  to  her  by  the  actors  on  the  stage,  car- 
ried on  by  the  sad  and  inexorable  current  of  the  play 
to  its  tragic  conclusion;  and  in  the  person  of  Falder, 
she  for  some  reason  saw  Mallette.  The  actor  who  took 
this  part,  an  Englishman  in  build  and  complexion,  re- 
sembled him,  and  this,  together  with  Mallette's  history, 
caused  her,  partly  involuntarily  and  partly  of  her  own 
volition,  to  lend  herself  to  the  impression  that  it  was  to 
Mallette  she  was  listening.  Something  about  Mallette's 
revolt  and  sacrifice  impressed  her  with  the  idea  —  per- 
haps he  was  the  stuff  of  which  martyrs  are  made,  chosen 
by  fate  to  point  the  way  to  others,  by  the  tragic  lessons 
of  their  own  lives;  and  this  illusion  made  even  more 
vivid  the  pathos  of  the  play,  and  caused  the  tears, 
which  she  could  not  forbear  to  shed,  to  seem  like  the 
expression  of  some  intimate  grief.  Something  strange 
and  poignant  had  touched  her,  in  the  restaurant,  when, 
without  warning,  she  had  seen  Mallette  once  more. 

Helena,  who  had  wept,  too,  was  herself  again,  and 
again  reproached  Claire  lightly  for  taking  her  to  such  a 
horrid  play;  but  Claire  could  not  speak,  and  it  was  only 
with  a  determined  effort  that  she  controlled  herself  by 
the  time  they  reached  the  brighter  light  of  the  street. 

Jamie  and  Mallette  joined  them  as  they  stood  waiting 
for  Claire's  motor,  which  was  to  meet  them  there.  They 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  295 

stood  at  one  side,  on  the  pavement,  under  the  glass 
canopy  of  the  theater,  in  a  delicious  atmosphere  balmy 
and  translucent,  and  in  this  soft  effluence  the  material 
world,  even  life  itself,  seemed  to  Claire,  for  the  moment, 
transmuted  into  something  more  suave,  more  benign, 
than  she  had  begun  to  believe  it  to  be,  and  as  the  motor 
drew  in  before  them,  she  gave  her  hand  to  Mallette, 
saying: 

"We  are  in  Ninth  Street  still  —  I  still  have  my  day" 
—  an  invitation  which  Helena,  she  noticed,  did  not  re- 
peat, and  as  she  turned  toward  the  motor  again,  she 
saw  that  the  door  had  opened  and  that  Dudley  was 
stepping  out. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

Mallette  bowed,  and  was  lost  to  sight  in  the  crowded 
thoroughfare.  Claire  offered  to  drop  Helena  at  her 
house,  but  she  preferred  to  walk.  It  was  agreed  that  she 
was  to  be  called  for  at  seven.  Claire,  Orville,  and  Jamie 
got  in,  and  as  they  started  on  their  way  to  Ninth  Street 
Orville  said: 

"Who  was  the  gentleman?" 

"Who!  Oh,  that  was  Mallette,"  Jamie  answered. 

"Mallette!"  Claire  could  not  tell  whether  Orville  had 
really  forgotten  or  not. 

"Yes,  my  friend  the  English  actor  —  don't  you  re- 
member?" 

"The  actor!  Oh,  yes;  he  claimed  to  be  some  relation 
of  Mallette's  of  London  —  yes,  I  remember  him.  And 
there  is  a  dead-line  between  actors,  and  people  of  that 
kind,  and  my  house." 

"People  of  that  kind!"  Jamie  repeated  indignantly. 
"He's  a  gentleman!  Besides,  he  was  n't  in  your  house." 

"And  I  don't  intend  he  shall  be." 

"But,  brother,  I  don't  cotton  to  ideas  like  that"  — 
Jamie  was  beginning  to  be  waggish,  but  the  look  in 
Orville's  eye  checked  him,  as  it  sometimes  did. 

The  car  stopped,  and,  going  to  her  room,  Claire 
seated  herself  by  the  window  and  began  to  review  the 
scenes  of  the  play.  The  impression  it  had  made  was  so 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  297 

vivid  that  by  closing  her  eyes  she  could  see  its  pictures 
once  more,  framed  by  the  brilliant  oblong  of  the  prosce- 
nium. The  temptation  and  the  first  lapse  from  honesty. 
The  prison,  that  machine  in  which  not  only  the  prison- 
ers, but  the  administration  itself,  were  enmeshed  in  the 
web  which  in  time  entangles  all  human  institutions  — ■ 
the  way  which  finally  stood  plainly  open,  but  which 
blind  justice  closed  again  —  and  the  final  tragedy. 

Undreamed-of  human  vistas  opened  before  her  — 
dark,  pitiful,  and  tragic  —  and  as  her  glance  rested  on 
the  tenements  she  saw  them  suddenly  with  different 
eyes.  Through  all  those  years  they  had  been  presenting 
their  pictures  to  her,  and  without  understanding  she  had 
looked  at  them,  coldly,  without  interest,  giving  them  a 
half  glance,  to  turn  away  presently  to  some  trivial  duty, 
as  if  they  had  been,  not  living  creatures  like  herself,  but 
tableaux  thrown  on  a  screen  for  her  inspection.  She  re- 
membered now  two  words  which  Mallette  had  used, 
some  time  in  the  past,  and  she  understood  now  what 
they  meant.  "Social  consciousness."  That  was  what 
Galsworthy  and  others  were  working  for,  trying  to  de- 
velop in  people  a  social  consciousness,  so  that  this  cold 
indifference  to  human  privation,  which  she  now  knew 
was  characteristic  of  herself  and  of  most  people,  might 
be  done  away  with.  Because  it  was  indifference.  She 
knew  that  if  a  story  of  hunger,  of  misfortune,  came  to 
her  knowledge,  it  would  make  her,  for  the  moment,  sad. 
She  would  sincerely  pity  the  unfortunate  protagonist  of 
the  tale  of  misery  — -  and  forget;  so  would  others.  That 


298  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

was  what  Galsworthy  was  writing  for,  hoping  to  arouse 
the  social  conscience,  so  that  people  would  n't  forget, 
and  until,  instead  of  being  content  with  passive  sym- 
pathy, an  active  and  persistent  determination  would 
grow  up  to  right  the  wrongs  of  people  too  weak,  or 
too  handicapped,  to  right  them  for  themselves.  Mal- 
lette  had  said  that  the  war  might  develop  this  con- 
sciousness, but  at  moments  like  this  it  seemed  as  if  all 
the  fearful  lessons  of  the  immediate  past  had  taught 
people  less  than  nothing. 

I  She  looked  at  her  watch.  In  twenty  minutes  Dudley 
would  be  knocking  at  her  door,  asking  if  she  were  ready. 
He  was  always  disconcertingly  punctual.  Dudley 
chaffed  her  continually  about  her  lack  of  promptness. 
The  very  watch  which  she  wore  on  her  wrist,  and  which 
she  forgot  to  look  at  so  often,  he  had  given  her  so  that  he 
might  not  be  kept  waiting.  She  did  not  in  the  least  want 
to  go.  She  had  been  up  late  so  often  lately.  She  knew 
that  it  meant  supper  somewhere  after  the  theater,  and 
getting  to  bed  very  late  again,  but  she  began  to  dress 
hurriedly,  making  such  haste  that  when  Orville 
knocked,  she  was  ready  for  him  —  that  is,  she  called, 
"Come  in,  I'm  ready." 

Orville  entered  perfectly  fresh,  cool,  and  unfatigued. 
Claire  was  dressed,  but  had  not  yet  put  on  her  hat,  and 
as  he  knew  that  this  would  take  ten  minutes,  he  sat 
down  and  lighted  a  cigarette,  observing: 

"Did  you  lunch  at  Delmonico's?" 

Claire  felt  that  Dudley's  not  very  deft  method  of 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  299 

opening  the  conversation  —  he  knew  quite  well  that  she 
was  to  lunch  at  Delmonico's  —  was  for  the  purpose  of 
having  Mallette's  appearance  at  the  theater  explained 
to  him. 

"Yes,  we  lunched  there,"  Claire  answered.  "Jamie 
was  there  with  Mr.  Mallette,  but  they  were  almost  fin- 
ished when  we  got  there.  Jamie  wanted  to  go  to  the 
theater  with  us,  but  he  could  n't  get  seats  near  us,  so  we 
only  saw  them  again,  afterwards!" 

The  story  of  the  play  flashed  again  across  her  vision. 
She  paused,  and  was  about  to  add,  "Oh,  Dudley,  must  I 
go  with  you  to-night?  "  when  she  looked  at  him,  and  the 
assured  poise  of  his  careless  attitude,  his  look  of  fresh- 
ness and  strength,  the  determined  forcefulness  of  his 
vivid  egoism,  determined  her  not  to  say  it.  He  might 
not  understand,  but  if  he  did  it  would  displease  him  not 
the  less. 

Orville,  however,  had  noticed  something  in  her  face  or 
manner,  and  he  said: 

"What's  the  matter,  Claire  —  anything  wrong?" 

"No,  except  that  I  saw  such  a  terrible  play  this  after- 
noon.' It  rather  tired  me." 

"What  on  earth  do  you  go  to  such  things  for?" 

"It  was  very  absorbing  —  too  absorbing.  I  think 
perhaps  I  won't  go  out  to-night,  Dudley." 

"Oh,  come  —  a  little  gayety  will  do  you  good!"  He 
jumped  up,  and  grasping  her  by  either  shoulder,  he 
drew  her  to  him. 

"But,  Dudley,  really  I'd  rather  not." 


300  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"Are  n't  you  well?" 

"Yes,  but—  " 

"Nonsense,  it'll  do  you  good." 

Jamie  called  from  below,  "It's  nearly  seven";  and 
overpowering  her  disinclination  by  the  force  of  his  de- 
termined personality,  they  descended  to  the  motor,  and 
speeding  through  the  purple  dusk  which  night  was  pour- 
ing into  the  Avenue  between  its  tall  buildings,  stopped 
for  Helena. 

Claire  had  spent  so  many  of  these  evenings  since  her 
marriage  that  she  knew  exactly  the  programme  which 
would  follow,  knew  so  exactly  that  she  had  not  even 
asked  Orville  where  he  had  got  tickets.  It  was  sure  to 
be  one  of  those  musical  comedies  which  draw  the  kind 
of  audience  which  laughs  whether  things  are  funny  or 
not.  Claire  had  at  first  laughed,  too,  but  it  was  an  effort 
for  her  to  do  so  any  longer,  and  she  often  wondered  how 
Orville  could  still  be  attracted  by  them. 

Helena  was  waiting  for  them,  and  presently  they 
found  themselves  passing  through  the  gilt  and  marble 
passages  of  a  neighboring  hotel,  under  a  blaze  of  crystal 
chandeliers,  into  a  large  and  sumptuous  dining-room, 
filled  with  prosperous-looking  people  in  evening  dress. 
A  party  of  eight,  four  men  and  four  women,  seated  at  a 
round  table,  greeted  them.  They  were  friends  of  Or- 
ville's  —  Claire  knew  them,  too.  The  table  was  pro- 
fusely decorated  with  flowers.  The  men,  gray-haired 
and  hard-featured,  with  immensely  stiff  and  correct 
shirt-fronts,  collars,  and  evening  clothes,  alternated 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  301 

with  the  women,  who  displayed  necks  and  arms  be- 
decked with  jewelry. 

"Claire,  look  at  Mrs.  Pomeroy's  pearls,"  Helena  re- 
marked in  an  undertone. 

Dudley  heard  her,  and  turned  too. 

"How  much  are  they  worth,  Helena?"  he  asked. 

"A  hundred  thousand,  probably." 

"Well,  Claire,  you'd  better  leave  yours  off  if  you  ex- 
pect to  be  anywhere  where  Mrs.  Pomeroy  is.  I  paid 
twenty  thousand,  but  compared  with  hers,  they  don't 
look  like  much." 

Dudley  really  seemed  slightly  humiliated. 

"A  hundred  thousand!"  Jamie  exclaimed  —  "what  a 
waste  of  money  —  what  could  n't  I  do  with  a  hundred 
thousand!"  And  he  clasped  his  hands  and  looked  at  the 
ceiling  with  an  expression  of  rapture. 

"We're  dining  with  them  next  week,"  Claire  an- 
swered; "do  you  really  want  me  not  to  wear  them?" 

"Certainly,"  answered  Dudley.  "If  Pomeroy's  wife 
can  afford  necklaces  worth  a  hundred  thousand,  I  'm  not 
going  to  let  my  wife  be  seen  with  one  worth  a  fifth  of 
it." 

Jamie's  eyelids  fluttered  at  the  vulgarity  of  this 
speech,  but  Helena  exclaimed : 

"I'd  sell  my  soul  for  a  necklace  worth  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  and  so  would  any  woman"  —  she 
drew  a  luxurious  breath  —  "especially  if  it  were  of 
pearls.  I  love  them  beyond  everything." 

"How  extravagant  you  are!"  Claire  cried. 


302  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"Ah,  but  you  don't  love  jewelry  as  I  do.  Do  you 
know  what  Mrs.  Pomeroy  is?  —  she's  a  fool,  in  every 
way  except  one.  She  does  know  enough  to  get  all  sorts 
of  luxuries  out  of  her  husband.  She  never  reads  any- 
thing, she  has  n't  any  children,  she  lives  in  a  hotel,  and 
spends  her  whole  time  in  dressmakers'  shops,  jewelers' 
shops,  or  milliners'  shops,  spending  money.  She  leads 
what  I  call  a  perfectly  ideal  existence.  If  you  knew 
what  even  her  stockings  cost,  I  am  sure  you  would  be 
staggered." 

"Not  easily,"  Dudley  answered  —  "my  wife  can 
afford  anything  Pomeroy's  can." 

"You  almost  lead  that  kind  of  an  existence  yourself, 
my  dear,"  Jamie  said  teasingly. 

"Indeed,  I  don't!  If  papa  hadn't  built  that 
enormous  house,  and  then  left  us  with  not  enough 
to  keep  it  going!  The  worst  of  it  is,  that  nobody 
will  buy  it  and  take  it  off  our  hands.  Why  don't  you, 
Dudley?" 

"  Very  well,  I  '11  take  it,  for  the  price  of  a  necklace  like 
Mrs.  Pomeroy's!" 

"But  it's  worth  much  more  than  that.  Oh,  Claire, 
I  'd  hate  to  be  in  Dudley's  clutches.  I  'm  sure  he  drives 
unmercifully  hard  bargains." 

Orville  laughed,  and  Jamie  observed : 

"They  say  that  it  is  an  economic  fact  that  the  more 
the  rich  spend  on  luxuries,  the  less  the  poor  have  to 
spend  on  the  necessities  of  life." 

"Is  that  true,  Jamie?"  Claire  asked,  arrested  by  this 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  303 

statement,  and  suddenly  she  saw  Falder  in  his  cell,  beat- 
ing against  its  iron  door. 

"I  don't  know;  ask  Mallette.  He  can  tell  you." 
"I've  told  you  that  there's  a  dead-line  between  my 

house  and  people  like  your  friend  Mallette"  —  this 

from  Orville. 

"But  I've  already  asked  him  to  call,  Dudley"  — 

Claire  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  tell  him  —  "he 

always  used  to  — " 

"Then  you  can  countermand  the  invitation." 
"Why,  Dudley,  that's  absurd!"  Helena  broke  in  — 

"Claire  can't  do  that." 

They  finished  dinner,  and  went  on  to  the  theater,  where 
they  were  lucky  enough  to  find  a  play  so  genuinely 
amusing  that  Claire  forgot  her  depression.  Orville 
thereupon  insisted  on  supper  at  a  cabaret.  Helena  and 
Jamie  were  eager  to  go,  Claire  acquiesced  passively, 
and  getting  into  the  motor  they  drove  a  hundred 
steps  and  entered  the  cabaret.  A  number  of  Dudley's 
hard-featured  friends  greeted  them  from  various  parts 
of  the  room  where  crowded  parties  around  over- 
crowded tables  indicated  that  they  were  engaged  in 
their  usual  nightly  occupation  of  spending  money. 
Couples  were  revolving  in  an  open  space  in  the  center  of 
the  room  which  was  surrounded  by  tables,  to  the  ener- 
getic time  of  an  orchestra.  The  vivacity  of  the  actors  in 
the  play,  and  the  rapid  succession  of  amusing  situations, 
which  had  acted  as  a  stimulant,  now  had  its  reaction. 


304  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

Claire  danced  with  Dudley,  and  as  the  orchestra 
stopped,  a  band  of  negroes  close  by  started  with  a  crash, 
with  banjos  and  percussional  instruments,  a  violent, 
barbaric,  syncopated  clamor,  which  served  at  once  to 
arouse  in  the  dancers  a  species  of  excitement  of  which 
the  orchestra  was  incapable.  Dudley  seized  Helena's 
hand,  drew  her  from  the  table,  and  they  were  lost  in  the 
whirlpool  circling  before  Claire. 

"Want  to  dance?"  Jamie  asked. 

"No,  thanks." 

A  leg  in  a  covering  of  diaphanous  silk  flashed  past 
her,  and  Helena  whirled  by  in  Dudley's  arms.  Her  face 
was  flushed,  and  her  humid  eyes  looked  at  him  with  an 
expression  which  seemed  to  say — "If  you  want  me, 
take  me!"  Some  similar  thought  must  have  struck 
Jamie,  too,  for  he  remarked,  "Funny  Helena  never 
married";  and  from  being  his  waggish  self,  he  became 
suddenly  quiet. 

The  negroes  stopped  with  a  crash,  and  immediately 
the  orchestra  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  struck  up 
again.  Helena  and  Dudley  returned  to  the  table.  Per- 
haps Dudley,  too,  had  seen  that  look,  for  the  conscious- 
ness that  had  previously  existed  between  himself  and 
Helena  seemed  suddenly  to  have  increased  in  sensitive- 
ness and  force.  They  were  more  vividly  aware  of  each 
other  than  they  had  been  before.  Claire,  all  woman, 
was  aware  of  this  too;  but  she  did  n't  care;  she  was 
tired  and  sleepy,  let  down,  and  wished  she  were 
in  bed. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  305 

"Come,  Dudley,  let's  go,"  she  said. 

Dudley  and  Helena  danced  into  the  outer  corridor. 
They  moved  toward  the  entrance,  put  on  their  wraps, 
and  going  out,  stood  waiting  on  the  edge  of  two  torrents 
of  humanity,  for  the  motor  which  was  slowly  making 
its  way  toward  them.  They  went  on  to  Helena's,  and 
retracing  their  way  down  the  deserted  Avenue,  turned 
into  Ninth  Street.  The  door  of  the  motor  slammed 
hollowly  after  them,  and  they  entered  the  dimly  lighted 
hall.  Jamie,  preceding  them,  had  disappeared  upstairs 
with  a  parting  "good-night." 

"You  look  tired,  Claire." 

"I  am,  awfully,"  Claire  ^answered,  as  she  began  to 
mount  the  stairs  slowly;  "I  think  I  won't  get  up  for 
breakfast." 

Dudley,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  said : 

"About  this  man  Mallette.  You  say  you  asked  him 
to  call?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  don't  want  him  here." 

"But,  Dudley,  I  can't  do  that.  I  can't  write  and  tell 
him  not  to  come,  after  having  asked  him.  He  may  not 
come  at  all  —  probably  he  won't." 

"If  he  does,  you  can  say  that  you  are  out." 

"But,  Dudley,  he  knows  that  I  am  at  home  on  Fri- 
days"—  Claire's  voice  was  growing  tremulous  with 
nervousness  and  fatigue  —  "I  shall  certainly  not  ask 
him  again." 

Dudley  hesitated  once  more,  finally   said,   "Well, 


306  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

good-night";  and  as  they  reached  the  second  floor, 
turned  toward  his  study. 

"Are  n't  you  going  to  bed  too?"  she  asked;  "it's  so 
late." 

"As  soon  as  I've  had  a  night-cap,"  he  answered,  and 
turned  into  the  passage  without  speaking  further,  or 
looking  at  her. 

She  was  aware  of  that  feeling  of  antagonism  which  for 
months  past  had  been  rising  between  them.  She  knew 
that  each  felt  it,  and  that  neither  could  control  it,  and 
an  intuitive  knowledge  that  this  mutual  feeling  was 
freighted  with  ominous  significance  for  the  future 
chilled  her,  and  made  her  unhappy.  Things  seemed  not 
going  well  between  them.  Something  in  their  natures 
which  they  could  not  control,  seemed  to  be  separating 
them,  in  sympathy  and  understanding,  slowly,  and  yet 
implacably. 

She  dragged  herself  up  another  flight,  closed  her  door, 
and  sank  into  the  low  chair  which  stood  before  one  of 
the  windows.  The  room  was  faintly  illuminated  by  a 
reading-lamp  which  stood  by  her  bed.  She  was  very 
tired.  A  confused  phantasmagoria  of  recent  impressions 
crowded  her  brain  —  sad,  sordid,  or  sinister  —  the 
tragic  scenes  of  Galsworthy's  play,  the  violent  concus- 
sions of  the  barbaric  negro  music,  and  Helena's  flushed 
face  seeming  to  say,  "If  you  want  me,  take  me";  and 
all  at  once  a  flood  of  tears  blinded  her.  She  surrendered 
herself,  she  could  have  hardly  told  why,  to  an  abandon- 
ment of  weeping,  bitter  and  sad  tears,  turning  her  body 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  307 

so  that  she  could  lay  her  face  in  her  arms,  which  rested 
on  the  low  back  of  her  chair. 

A  sound  from  somewhere  beyond  the  open  window 
caused  her  to  look  up,  hastily  drying  her  eyes.  The  city 
was  dark  and  still  under  a  floating  powder  of  golden 
stars.  The  tenements  rose  with  an  unbroken,  somber 
surface,  except  where,  close  to  her,  one  dimly  lighted 
window  framed  the  figure  of  the  little  dark  creature  she 
had  seen  that  morning,  nursing  a  child.  A  shabby  and 
wretched  picture,  superimposed  upon  the  mixed  im- 
pressions of  the  extravagant  backgrounds,  of  restau- 
rant, theater,  and  cabaret,  which  the  evening  had  pro- 
vided. The  attitude  of  her  wretched  figure  gave  unmis- 
takably an  impression  of  dejection  and  weariness,  and 
yet  of  surprised  and  interested  observation,  and  as 
Claire  turned  her  head,  her  voice,  with  an  intonation  sad 
and  foreign,  came  clearly  to  her  across  the  space  which 
separated  them. 

"Are  you  unhappy?"  it  said,  as  if  this  seemed  hardly 
possible.  "I,  too,  ah,  yes,  I  am  unhappy,  too  —  I,  too, 
am  unhappy." 

A  voice  sounded  gruffly  from  within;  the  light  was 
extinguished.  Claire  stood  for  a  moment,  moved  by  the 
sad  and  hopeless  accents  of  that  brief  confession,  and 
then  closing  her  blinds,  prepared  at  last  for  the  night. 
She  undressed,  switched  off  the  light,  opened  the  slats 
of  the  blinds,  and  in  the  soft  gloom  which  enveloped 
her  surrendered  herself,  with  an  immense  fatigue, 
in  the   soft   support  of  her  bed,   lying  relaxed  and 


308  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

motionless,  to  the  scented  security  which  wrapped 
her  in. 

Even  in  the  darkness  she  was  aware  of  the  silken 
draperies  at  her  windows,  and  the  soft  folds  of  point 
$  esprit  which  swept  from  under  them  over  the  glass, 
held  back  by  their  satin  bows;  she  was  aware  of  the 
thick  carpet,  soft  as  moss,  stretching  its  velvet  surface 
below  her,  of  the  cushions  of  scented  down,  on  the 
French  armchairs,  the  gold  and  silver  brushes  of  her 
toilet  table,  the  scent  bottles  of  engraved  crystal,  her 
jewels  hidden  in  their  secret  safe.  Slumbering  in  per- 
fumed folds  tissues  of  silk  and  lace  lay  in  the  sliding 
trays  of  the  cupboards,  and  in  the  spaces  beyond,  in 
closets  as  large  as  rooms,  her  gowns  of  silk,  satin,  velvet, 
and  lace  hung,  or  were  folded  in  wrappings  of  tissue 
paper.  And  beyond,  at  a  distance  no  greater  than  from 
her  room  to  Dudley's  the  unimaginable  squalor  of  the 
tenements,  beyond  them  the  city's  encircling  zones  of 
want,  beyond  them  all  the  world-wide  needs  left  in  the 
wake  of  war. 

She  lay  sunk  in  her  luxurious  bed,  surrounded  by, 
closed  in  by,  strata  of  finery,  rank  upon  rank  of  boots 
and  slippers  standing  on  their  narrow  shelves,  cloth  of 
silver,  cloth  of  gold,  kid,  satin,  polished  leather;  rows  of 
hats,  rows  of  sunshades,  wraps  of  fur  and  velvet,  boxes 
of  gloves  fresh  and  unopened,  a  variety  of  costly  ab- 
surdities bought  in  mere  wantonness;  in  the  midst  of  all 
these  treasures  wrung,  it  seemed,  by  the  abnormal  op- 
portunities of  war  from  the  miseries  of  others,  a  sud- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  309 

den  terrible  distaste  arose  in  her  and,  oppressed  by  the 
stifling  canopy  of  her  bed,  she  sprang  up,  and  leaning  on 
the  sill  of  a  window,  drew  a  deep  inspiration  of  the  cooler 
air  faintly  stirring  without. 

But  she  had  wanted  this.  Brought  face  to  face  with 
a  future  that  lacked  any  guarantees  of  security,  she  had 
traded  herself  for  this  very  security  which  was  becoming 
irksome  to  her.  But  was  that,  after  all,  true?  Had  she 
not  loved  Orville?  Did  she  not  love  him  now?  True, 
she  had  been  glad  that  he  was  so  stout  a  staff  to  lean  on, 
but  she  had  not  questioned  her  assumption  that  she 
loved  him.  But  if  that  were  so,  why  question  it  now? 
Because  then  she  did  not  know  what  love  was.  Did  she 
know  now?  She  only  knew  that  she  could  tell  what  love 
was  not.  And  it  was  not  love  she  had  felt  for  him!  Alas, 
she  knew  now  that  it  was  not!  Poor  Dudley!  But  she 
had  made  a  bargain,  and  she  would  stick  to  it. 

"I,  too,  am  unhappy."  The  foreign  accent  still 
sounded  in  her  ears.  That  little  wretched  creature  — 
yes  —  but,  after  all,  why  should  she  be  unhappy  —  she 
herself?  Did  she  ask  too  much  of  life?  What  was  there 
that  life  did  not  give  her  which  she  had  a  right  to  de- 
mand of  it?  Had  she  not  everything?  But  perhaps  to 
have  everything  was  to  have  too  much  —  or  not 
enough!  And  had  she  everything?  Most  people  would 
have  answered  that  question  unhesitatingly  in  the  af- 
firmative, because  the  mere  process  of  living  under 
luxurious  conditions  would  have  sufficed  them.  But  she 
had  begun  to  know  that  all  these  things  did  not  fill  a 


310  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

need  her  heart  hungered  for.  What  was  this  thing?  Was 
it  those  humanitarian  instincts  she  had  begun  to  awaken 
to?  No,  she  was  not  unselfish  enough  for  that.  Some- 
thing seemed  to  stand  before  her,  amorphous,  yet  bright, 
glowing  with  a  delicious  promise,  and  yet  fraught  per- 
haps with  pain.  She  longed  to  look  toward  it,  yet  dared 
not.  She  felt  that  with  a  little  effort  she  would  be  able 
to  read  the  secret  of  her  discontent  —  and  yet,  she  was 
afraid.  She  was  afraid,  and  yet  her  unhappiness  had 
passed.  The  amorphous  and  yet  bright  presence  warmed 
her  with  a  promise  which  was  sweet  to  her,  and  yet 
which  she  could  not  or  feared  to  —  understand. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

Dudley  did  not  refer  to  Mallette  again,  nor,  of  course, 
did  Claire,  and  the  next  Friday  he  called.  The  night 
before  Claire  and  Orville  had  dined  with  the  lady  of  the 
necklace.  Orville  was  late  in  reaching  Ninth  Street  that 
afternoon,  and  as  Claire  was  seated  before  her  dressing- 
table,  he  knocked,  and  came  into  the  room.  He  carried 
a  small,  oblong  package,  which  he  laid  down  before  her. 

"A  little  present  for  you  to  wear  to-night,"  he  said. 
"I'm  awfully  behind  time.  You  can  tell  me  how  you 
like  it  later." 

Claire  finished  dressing  before  she  opened  it.  She 
thought,  as  she  unfastened  the  cord,  that  he  had  picked 
up  some  trinket,  as  he  was  always  doing — a  paper-knife, 
a  tiny  clock,  a  cigarette  case  —  always  very  costly;  but 
now  the  unmistakable  morocco  box  of  a  jeweller  dis- 
played itself  as  she  unfolded  the  paper  wrapping,  and 
opening  it,  she  was  transfixed  by  the  subtle  beauty  of  a 
superb  pearl  necklace,  lying  upon  its  silken  couch.  She 
lifted  it  up.  Its  warm,  heavy  richness  reminded  her 
of  some  beautiful  but  inert  organism.  She  raised  her 
bare  arms,  and,  pressing  the  emerald  clasp  together 
behind  her  neck,  let  it  rest  on  her  bosom.  It  hung 
almost  to  her  waist.  It  seemed  to  caress  her,  to  press 
its  satiny  surfaces  against  her  skin.  Ah!  How  beauti- 
ful!   She  turned  quickly,  opened  her  door,  went  to 


312  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

Dudley's  room,  knocked,  and  turned  the  knob.  He 
had  been  standing  before  his  mirror,  in  a  white  waist- 
coat, but  without  his  coat,  tying  his  cravat,  but  he  had 
turned,  and  as  she  entered,  he  was  waiting  for  her, 
looking  at  her  with  a  curious  attitude  of  expectancy, 
the  significance  of  which  she  did  not  understand  until 
afterwards. 

She  went  up  to  him  and  kissed  him. 

"Ah,  Dudley !  It  is  so  beautiful !  But  you  must  n't  — 
you  really  must  n't  —  give  me  such  beautiful  things. 
See  how  lovely  it  is!  You're  too,  too  good  to  me, 
Dudley." 

"That's  all  right.  Why  should  n't  I  be  good  to  you? 
Do  you  know  how  much  I  made  to-day?  I  closed  a  deal 
I've  been  working  on.  That's  why  I  was  late,  and  I 
promised  myself,  if  it  went  through,  I  would  get  you  a 
necklace  that  would  take  the  shine  off  Mrs.  Pomeroy's. 
Well,  I  made  a  million  this  afternoon.  Besides"  —  and 
he  stepped  back  to  look  at  her  —  "you  are  such  a 
beauty.  Claire,  you  ought  to  have  such  things.  There 
is  n't  a  woman  in  town  who  can  hold  a  candle  to  you." 

At  Mrs.  Pomeroy's,  whose  suite  in  its  arid  elegance 
reminded  Claire  of  Dudley's  bachelor  establishment, 
the  necklace  served  admirably  as  a  topic  by  which  the 
party  was  carried  beyond  the  preliminary  shoals  of  con- 
versation. Not  only  the  women,  but  the  men,  noticed 
it  immediately,  and  all,  Claire  knew,  had  immediately 
appraised  it  as  expertly  as  any  jeweler.  Orville  was 
congratulated,  inferentially,  for  his  ability  to  buy  such 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  313 

trinkets,  and  Claire  for  having  a  husband  with  the  dis- 
position to  do  so.  Mrs.  Pomeroy,  alone,  was  rendered 
slightly  distraite,  and  it  struck  Claire  that  it  was  rather 
ungracious  so  to  take  the  wind  out  of  her  sails,  at  her 
own  dinner  party.  She  had  thought  of  this  before  leav- 
ing the  house,  but  felt  that  to  raise  such  a  point  then 
would  be  but  a  poor  return  for  Dudley's  generosity. 

Claire  had  been  to  many  of  these  entertainments. 
Orville  and  his  intimates  were  American  types  of  a  pred- 
atory, rapacious  class  found  in  all  countries.  Each  had 
risen  from  nothing  by  shrewdness  and  energy  into  a  po- 
sition where  wealth  was  easily  made.  They  were  experts 
in  the  manipulation  of  money,  the  organization  of  in- 
dustrial combinations,  the  promotion  of  new  enterprises, 
and  the  art  of  making  something  —  a  great  deal  in  fact 
1 —  out  of  nothing.  They  were  gamblers,  acquiring 
wealth  through  the  fictitious  fluctuations  of  securities, 
the  thimble-riggers  of  a  country  fair,  magnified  a  thou- 
sand fold;  modern  buccaneers  sailing  the  seas  of  com- 
merce. The  war  had  meant  little  to  them  except  addi- 
tional opportunities  of  which  all  had  taken  full  advan- 
tage. They  accumulated  little,  although  they  made  so 
much,  because  they  spent  so  enormously.  They  gave 
no  heed  to  the  future;  they  had  a  hundred  irons  in  a 
hundred  fires.  They  were  the  real  coiners,  and  they 
used  this  flux  of  gold  for  the  purchase  of  all  the  things 
the  world  had  to  offer.  Money  was  made,  not  to  con- 
serve, but  to  spend,  and  the  pleasure  they  derived  from 
it  was  not  in  its  accumulation,  but  in  the  variety  of 


314  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

means  by  which  they  could  get  rid  of  it.  They  knew 
how  to  make  money,  no  small  thing,  but  they  knew  little 
else,  and  that,  too,  they  knew,  and  that  was  no  small 
thing.  They  decked  their  wives  out  in  Paris  gowns, 
loaded  them  with  jewelry,  were  without  any,  beyond  a 
surface  knowledge,  of  the  real  amenities  of  life,  and 
while  one  or  two  of  the  more  imaginative  among  them 
kept  mistresses,  most  of  them  were  fairly  well  behaved, 
although  they  usually  began  to  drink  at  the  close  of 
business,  each  having  forestalled  the  law  by  storing  up 
huge  quantities  of  alcoholic  beverages,  and  had  become 
rather  tipsy  by  bedtime.  They  were  plain,  hard- 
featured,  and  were  dull  company.  Their  wives  pos- 
sessed similar  characteristics. 

Dinner  was  served  in  Mrs.  Pomeroy's  private  dining- 
room,  with  a  wealth  of  detail  and  an  extravagance  of 
service  money  can  buy  wherever  it  is  to  be  purchased. 
Conversation  during  its  progress  consisted  of  a  constant 
cross-fire  of  good-natured  chaff,  rather  heavy-handed, 
accompanied  by  much  boisterous  laughter.  At  the  con- 
clusion of  dinner  the  ladies  withdrew  to  an  adjoining 
parlor.  The  newest  types  of  motors  were  discussed, 
clothes,  jewelry,  and  the  latest  gossip.  From  the  dining- 
room  came  fragments  of  financial  discussions,  or  occa- 
sional lapses  into  undertones,  followed  by  loud  bursts 
of  laughter,  which  indicated  that  a  dubious  story  was 
being  told.  These  two  topics,  stocks,  and  indecent  sto- 
ries, engaged  the  men  for  twenty  minutes,  when  they 
would  emerge,  and  all  would  seat  themselves  for  an 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  315 

evening  of  auction,  at  which  husbands  and  wives  were 
kept  carefully  apart. 

And  in  this  company  of  middle-aged  and  un- 
cultured people,  given  over  to  the  pursuit  and 
enjoyment  of  material  things,  Claire  shone  like  a 
standard  rose  blooming  among  a  brown  and  withered 
leafage. 

Claire  dreaded  these  evenings,  and  came  away  from 
them  with  a  sense  of  mental  and  spiritual  prostration 
which  she  smilingly  concealed  from  Orville,  even  during 
dissertations  on  his  part,  afterward,  on  the  principles  of 
good  auction,  which  she  could  not  understand.  For 
Claire  had  no  card  sense,  and  was  a  wretched  player, 
while  Dudley  was  a  brilliant  one. 

It  was  after  a  night  of  this  description  that  Mallette 
called.  Before  many  months  summer  would  be  upon 
them,  and  Orville  was  talking  of  renting  a  country 
house.  Adelaide  had  shut  hers  very  early,  and  had 
gone  to  a  distant  hotel,  and  Helena,  who  did  not  wish 
yet  to  leave  town,  had  come  to  Ninth  Street,  on 
Claire's  invitation,  to  stop  a  week. 

Claire  had  wondered  whether,  if  she  had  the  oppor- 
tunity, it  might  not  be  best  to  send  word  that  she  was 
not  at  home  if  Mallette  should  call,  but,  as  it  happened, 
she  was  given  no  choice  in  the  matter,  because  he  was 
shown  into  the  drawing-room  while  Claire  was  there 
with  another  visitor.  It  was  quite  late,  and  he  was 
hardly  seated  when  Jamie  arrived.  Helena,  who  had 
been  out  somewhere,  came  in  soon  after,  and,  before 


316  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

Claire  realized  the  time,  the  clock  struck  seven,  and 
Dudley  himself  appeared  in  the  room. 

To  Claire's  surprise  Dudley  greeted  Mallette  with  a 
cordiality  he  did  not  always  feel  himself  obliged  to  show 
toward  guests,  and  pressed  him  to  dine  with  them. 
Jamie,  as  Orville  had  led  the  way,  added  his  persuasions, 
until  Mallette  accepted.  Jamie  took  him  to  his  room, 
and  the  others  separated,  to  meet  in  the  drawing-room 
in  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Claire  speculated  as  to  Dudley's  unexpected  friend- 
liness, and  concluded  that  he  was  simply  making  use  of 
an  opportunity  which  had  been  offered  to  find  out  for 
himself  what  manner  of  man  Mallette  was.  During 
dinner  a  desultory  chatter  was  kept  up,  but  afterwards, 
in  the  drawing-room,  Dudley,  Claire  noticed,  led  the 
conversation  to  subjects  he  had  never  shown,  so  far  as 
she  knew,  an  interest  in  before.  All  those  questions 
which  after- war  conditions  had  made  more  vital  —  so- 
cialism, labor,  wealth  and  poverty.  Claire  knew  that 
Mallette's  presence  accounted  for  this  interest,  and  that 
Dudley  must  have  been  informed  by  some  one  of 
Mallette's  opinions,  and  for  some  reason  she  assumed 
that  Helena  had  told  him.  Dudley,  with  that  persistent 
good-nature  of  his,  which  nevertheless  seemed  always 
to  hide  a  current  of  dangerous  determination,  tried 
suavely  to  draw  Mallette  out;  but  he  was  difficult  to 
draw.  He  knew,  of  course,  that  his  ideas  would  be  re- 
ceived with  scant  sympathy,  and  seemed,  while  not 
afraid  to  try  conclusions,  not  eager  to  begin  an  argument. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  317 

But  Dudley  was  persistent,  pressing  him  with  ques- 
tions asked  with  an  affability  which  hid  in  it  some- 
thing of  contempt,  until  Mallette  finally  took  up  his 
challenge. 

When  his  determination  became  apparent,  a  feeling 
of  apprehension  seized  Claire.  She  feared  that  he  was 
about  to  reveal  himself  as  a  vague  dreamer,  and  that 
under  the  cross-questioning  of  Dudley's  experienced 
worldliness,  he  would  expound  only  a  practicable  sen- 
timentalism,  impossible  of  application  to  social  prob- 
lems, which  had  and  always  would  exist,  as  they  existed 
at  present.  Claire,  through  tradition,  inherited  inclina- 
tions, hearsay,  and  fragmentary  knowledge  of  the  most 
superficial  character,  had  always  visualized,  in  hearing 
the  words  socialist,  reformer,  a  worthless  creature,  un- 
healthy-looking and  sallow,  with  long,  greasy  locks,  who, 
too  lazy  to  work,  went  about  the  world  with  a  head 
stuffed  with  ridiculous  theories,  trying  to  make  other 
people  discontented. 

They  were  sitting  in  the  drawing-room,  now  wider 
and  more  sumptuous  than  of  old.  A  shaded  lamp  burned 
on  a  table,  and  one  electric  light  surmounting  its  make- 
believe  candle,  and  hidden  under  a  small  canopy  of  silk, 
shed  a  mellow  light  on  the  keyboard  of  the  piano  to- 
ward which  Helena,  when  it  had  become  evident  that  a 
discussion  was  inevitable,  had  beckoned  Jamie  with  a 
slight  grimace. 

The  shaded  table-lamp  lit  with  its  steady  radiance 
the  fluted  outlines  of  a  silver  coffee-pot  which  stood 


318  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

upon  a  silver  tray  and  the  porcelain  surfaces  of  little 
cups.  Near  these  sat  Orville  and  Mallette,  Orville  with 
a  cigar,  and  at  one  side,  and  a  little  more  in  shadow, 
Claire;  and  it  seemed  to  her,  as  she  sat  relaxed  and  yet 
listening,  that  this  conversation  would  bear  within  it  a 
momentous  significance  strangely  disproportioned  to 
the  surroundings,  enveloped  as  she  was  in  the  warm  and 
secure  embrace  of  the  luxurious  atmosphere  of  the  room, 
compounded  of  the  golden  glow  of  the  lamps,  the  scent 
of  flowers,  and  the  perfume  of  Orville's  imcomparable 
cigar. 

Dudley  had  stirred  Mallette  into  argument  by  derid- 
ing socialism  as  an  irresponsible  movement  which  would 
overthrow  the  existing  structure,  without  knowing  how 
to  build  anything  to  take  its  place,  and  to  his  surprise 
Mallette  agreed  with  him.  To  Mallette  the  capitalistic 
system  was  necessary,  and  had  much  of  good  in  it.  He 
did  not  regard  the  capitalist  as  an  inhuman  monster, 
but  as  representing  a  class  slow  to  change,  and  under- 
standably so.  What  he  advocated  was  simply  a  better 
relationship  between  capital  and  labor,  by  which  pov- 
erty might  be  done  away  with.  Even  his  plea  for  this 
was  based,  not  on  an  appeal  to  humanitarian  motives, 
but  to  business  logic,  and  he  began  to  give,  with  a  pre- 
cision which  indicated  great  familiarity  with  his  subject 
and  a  retentive  memory,  a  mass  of  data,  showing  how 
senseless  the  irreconcilable  antagonisms  of  labor  and 
capital  were,  as  shown  by  the  staggering  costs,  not  only 
to  the  community  at  large,  but  to  themselves,  of  their 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  319 

endless  disputes,  strikes,  oppressions,  and  broken  agree- 
ments. 

Dudley  caught  at  the  last  two  words.  "How  can  you 
deal  with  labor?  It  has  great  power,  and  no  responsi- 
bility. The  history  of  labor  unions  is  a  history  of  broken 
promises." 

Again  Mallette  amazed,  and  rather  annoyed,  Dudley 
by  agreeing  with  him.  He,  too,  did  not  believe  much  in 
trade  unions.  At  the  best  they  were  a  necessary  evil.  It 
was  true  that  they  had  improved  the  condition  of  labor, 
but  only  slightly,  and  they  were  largely  responsible  for 
the  present  inflation  because,  if  wages  were  raised,  noth- 
ing could  prevent  capital  from  raising  prices  which  would 
be  paid  by  the  consumer,  and  so  in  part  at  least  by  labor 
itself.  The  capitalist  himself  could  not  be  reached. 

"  If  you  can't  reach  the  capitalist,  what  are  you  going 
to  do  about  it?"  Dudley  asked. 

"The  capitalist  cannot  be  reached  under  the  present 
system.  But  let  me  say  again  that  I  do  not  regard  the 
capitalist,  as  he  is  always  represented  in  labor  papers,  as 
a  malign  creature,  bent  on  sucking  the  blood  of  the  pro- 
letariat to  the  last  drop." 

Many  were  rapacious,  he  went  on  to  say,  but  many 
were  strong,  conservative  men,  conscientious,  but  with  an 
abiding  and  unshakable  faith  in  the  sacred  rights  of  pri- 
vate property,  and  while  they  were  the  driving  force 
behind  the  industrial  machine,  and  while  any  system, 
Mallette  believed,  would  prove  a  failure  which  deprived 
them  of  their  just  rewards,  still,  they  had,  it  must  be 


320  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

admitted,  the  defects  of  their  qualities,  and  their  princi- 
pal defect  was  their  inability  to  believe  that  labor  had 
any  share  in  the  wealth  produced  by  labor. 

"  The  immense  amount  of  money  lost  each  year,  both 
to  employer  and  employed,  in  strikes,"  Mallette  contin- 
ued, "could  be  saved  by  certain  general  regulations,  and 
by  certain  concessions,  on  the  part  of  capital;  but  capi- 
tal will  not  make  those  concessions  because  it  feels  that 
it  would  be  sacrificing  a  principle,  yielding  an  inalienable 
right.  So  it  goes  on.  Labor  says,  'All  wealth  is  the  prod- 
uct of  my  hands;  but  as  soon  as  it  comes  into  being  it  is 
taken  away  from  me.'  The  capitalist  says,  'Wealth  is 
the  product  of  my  brains  and  industry.  Each  man  has 
his  chance.  The  meanest  hod-carrier,  if  he  has  the  abil- 
ity, will  accumulate  wealth  too.  Take  mine  from  me  if 
you  can!  My  brains  and  money,  and  your  labor,  are 
each  a  commodity  having  a  certain  value  in  the  markets 
of  the  world,  and  your  commodity  is  n't  worth  as  much 
as  mine.  We  are  each  free  men.  You  sell  what  you  have 
for  what  you  can  get  for  it.   So  do  I.' 

"But  the  wage-earner,  if  he  must  sell  his  labor  for  a 
price  which  will  not  give  him  some  little  share  in  the 
comforts  and  pleasures  of  life,  is  not  a  free  man.  If  he 
must  sell  his  labor  at  a  price  which  condemns  him  to  an 
existence,  precarious  at  that,  of  undernourishment,  of 
scrofulous  children,  lack  of  warmth,  lack  of  all  the 
things  which  a  measure  of  industrial  security  would  give 
him,  he  is  a  slave.  And  this  slavery  can  be  remedied." 

"How?"  asked  Orville. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  321 

"By  cooperation  between  labor  and  capital,  by 
which  labor  is  given  a  share  —  a  very  small  share  would 
suffice  —  and  by  the  regulation  of  production." 

"Production  regulates  itself."  Dudley  interrupted. 

Mallette  looked  at  him  as  if  he  could  not  believe  that 
he  was  serious,  and  Orville  added  hastily,  "But  how  is 
production  to  be  regulated  —  by  the  State?" 

"By  private  bargaining." 

"You'll  never  get  capital  to  listen  to  any  such  ideas." 

"Yes,  capital  ultimately  will  listen,"  Mallette  replied, 
with  calm  conviction,  "because  by  slow  degrees  society 
is  reconstructing  itself  on  principles  of  humanity  and 
altruism.  What  has  caused  the  development  and  growth 
of  labor  unions?  —  industrial  discontent.  What  has 
caused  this  industrial  discontent?  Exorbitant  dreams 
and  demands  on  the  part  of  labor?  Not  at  all;  simply 
stark  poverty.  Labor  is  easily  contented.  It  is  not 
stirred  by  restless  ambitions.  There  are  industrial  com- 
munities where  it  has  never  organized,  simply  because 
in  those  communities  its  employers  have  broken  down 
that  antagonism  which  has  grown  up  between  capital 
and  labor,  by  treating  their  employees  like  individual 
human  beings.  The  war  has  brought  home  the  necessity 
of  this  so  clearly.  It  seems  so  clear  to  me  that  the  one 
supreme  need  of  mankind  is  political  and  industrial 
emancipation.  But  man  collectively  seems  to  be  unable 
to  progress  one  step  forward  without  taking  from  man 
the  utmost  toll  of  sweat  and  torment.  How  dull,  how 
senseless,  in  view  of  what  we  have  gone  through  in  the 


322  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

last  six  years,  from  any  point  of  view  is  the  old  imperial- 
ism of  governments  and  the  old  industrial  warfare !  The 
strike  has  been  compared  by  one  of  your  writers  on 
economics  to  two  men  standing  side  by  side,  and  settling 
a  dispute  by  throwing  gold  pieces  into  the  sea,  the  long- 
est purse  to  win.  From  a  simple  computation  of  relative 
cost  of  cooperation  or  contest  based  on  experience,  we 
would  think  that  satisfactory  solutions  could  be  reached; 
and  if  more  is  needed,  if  you  wish  to  appeal  to  his  human- 
itarian instincts,  take  your  obdurate  employer  through 
this  city,  beyond  the  narrow,  central  strip  where  he  and 
his  class  live,  into  the  outer  slums  which  hem  him  in" 
—  here  Mallette  began  to  tell  the  tale  of  the  poor 
which  is  told  so  often,  which  so  few  listen  to.  He  told  it 
without  any  touch  of  sentimentality,  by  cold  facts 
fortified  by  figures;  and  as  Claire  listened,  stirred  and 
distressed  by  his  vivid  pictures,  she  longed  to  take  him 
to  her  room  and,  showing  him  the  tenements,  say  to 
him,  "Is  it  true  that  such  things  need  not  be?  —  that 
there  is  a  cure  for  all  this?"  —  while  at  the  same  time 
she  doubted,  conscious  of  a  surge  of  pity,  not  for  that 
outcast  army  whose  cause  Mallette  was  pleading,  but 
for  Mallette  himself,  fighting,  she  believed,  a  hopeless 
battle  against  a  giant  enemy  as  strong  as  humanity 
itself. 

But  Dudley,  with  his  individualistic  ego  working 
over-time,  without  any  collective  consciousness  what- 
ever, listened  to  him  with  impatience,  contempt,  and 
almost  hostility,  partly,  perhaps,  because  he  knew  that 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  323 

he  was  no  match  for  him  in  the  subject  under  discussion. 
Helena  and  Jamie,  too,  had  come  to  listen,  and  Mallette, 
absorbed  in  his  topic,  far  exceeded  his  intentions,  until 
jumping  up  in  confusion  he  offered  his  hand  to  Claire. 

"It  is  a  curious  thing,"  he  said,  "that  while  what  I 
have  been  telling  you  are  indisputable  facts,  they  are  so 
unpopular  with  people  that  when  I  do  speak  of  them 
I  feel  like  apologizing  for  them.  I  am  sure  you  have  been 
very  good  to  listen  to  me  and,  somehow,  I  have  said 
much  more  than  I  intended  to." 

"Most  people  don't  understand,"  Claire  said.  "Pov- 
erty seems  so  remote  that  it  does  n't  seem  real.  Then, 
too,  so  many  people  think  that  it  is  only  comparative, 
and  that  the  poor  don't  mind,  because  they  are  used  to 
slums  and  privations.  I  am  glad  that  when  you  showed 
us  what  it  really  was,  you  gave  us  hope  that  it  might  be 
done  away  with.   It  is  all  wonderfully  interesting." 

Orville,  who,  ignoring  the  fact  that  Mallette  was  say- 
ing good-bye,  had  turned  his  back  and  was  filling  his 
coffee-cup,  here  faced  about. 

"An  interesting  pipe  dream!  Social  and  political  re- 
formers have  been  at  work  ever  since  there 's  been  such 
a  thing  as  organized  society,  and  they've  never  accom- 
plished that!"   And  he  snapped  his  fingers. 

"I  am  not  expecting  change  except  where  interest 
dictates  it.  It  seems  to  me  that  one  may  not  unreason- 
ably expect  it  then.  Here  is  an  instance  I  personally 
know  about,  which  occurred  at  home.  A  certain  works 
there  would  have  made,  during  a  period  of  five  years,  as 


324  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

nearly  as  can  be  calculated,  five  million  dollars,  had  not 
disputes  with  labor  during  this  time  reduced  their  profits 
by  two  millions.  If  half  of  that  sum  had  been  paid  to 
their  hands  during  that  five  years,  they  would  have  been 
contented,  better  fed,  more  efficient,  and  the  concern 
itself  would  have  saved  the  other  million.  Is  there  any- 
thing fantastic  in  the  contention  that  the  wise  and  pru- 
dent thing  would  have  been,  for  this  concern,  to  make 
four  millions  instead  of  three,  and  have  their  workers 
contented  in  the  bargain?" 

"  Fantastic!  If  you  want  to  know  whether  it  is  fan- 
tastic or  not,  come  to  me  and  try  to  tell  me  how  to  run 
my  business." 

"  I  don't  see  that  that  is  answering  my  question." 
Orville's  manner  was  plainly  offensive,  butMallette 
seemed  determined  to  hold  him  to  the  point. 

"You  don't  think  so?  Well,  the  workers  in  that  case 
were  trying  to  dictate  to  their  employers.^  I  would  have 
done  exactly  as  their  employers  did." 

"But  the  head  of  those  works  had  an  opportunity  to 
relieve  almost  intolerable  conditions  among  his  em- 
ployees, and  put  a  million  dollars  into  his  own  pockets 
besides." 

"I  tell  you  it's  a  matter  of  principle." 

"A  matter  of  principle  to  make  other  people  suffer  at 
unnecessary  cost  to  yourself?  " 

"Yes,"  cried  Dudley,  completely  losing  his  temper; 
"  to  hell  with  them,  and  to  hell  with  the  whole  bunch 
of  sentimentalists,  loafers,  and  agitators,  who  go  about 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  325 

the  world  trying  to  make  trouble,  and  who  are  n't  worth 
the  powder  to  blow  them  to  blazes." 

Mallette  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned  away  from 
him.  "Discussions  of  this  kind  are  rarely  profitable," 
he  said.  "Good-night,  Mrs.  Orville,  good-night,  Miss 
Hampton,  good-night."  This  last  was  addressed  to 
Dudley,  who  ignored  it,  and  Mallette  left  the  room, 
followed  by  Jamie. 

"Dudley!"  cried  Claire,  with  a  blaze  of  anger  — 
"how  outrageous  of  you!  You  deliberately  insulted 
him." 

"That  is  precisely  what  I  did.  That  makes  the  second 
time  in  this  house.   Perhaps  now  he'll  stay  away." 

"He  shall  not  stay  away  if  I  can  persuade  him  to 
come  here." 

"What's  that?"  Dudley  cried  sharply. 

"The  least  I  can  do  for  your  sake  is  to  ignore  your 
rudeness." 

"Never  mind  about  my  rudeness.  When  I  am  rude  it 
is  because  I  want  to  be,  and  I  give  you  fair  warning  that 
I  don't  intend  that  he  shall  come  here  again." 

"You  shall  not  be  insulting  in  your  own  house,  to 
people  I  have  asked  here"  —  Claire  stamped  her  foot 
—  "and  I  intend  to  ask  whom  I  please.  I  am  perfectly 
able  to  judge  about  such  things." 

"Try  it,"  Dudley  cried  threateningly. 

"I  thought  I  was  to  be  free  — " 

"You  are,  as  long  — " 

"As  long  as  I  do  what  you  want  me  to  do." 


326  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"Look  here,"  Dudley  cried,  turning  to  Helena,  who 
sat  with  the  non-committal  smile  of  one  who  is  caught 
unwillingly  in  the  meshes  of  a  family  dispute,  "am  I  un- 
reasonable?" 

"Really,  Claire,  he  is  n't  worth  bothering  about." 

"It  is  n't  a  question  of  bothering  or  not  bothering. 
I  won't  have  Dudley  rude  to  people  in  my  house." 

"If  you  don't  want  me  to  be  rude  to  people  I  object 
to,  don't  ask  them  here." 

"  Being  rude  to  them  won't  stop  me,  Dudley." 

"  It  will  stop  them  from  coming." 

"Have  I  ever  asked  any  one  else  you  did  n't  approve 
of?" 

"No;  but  one  is  one  too  many." 

"Very  well,  Dudley,  you  shall  see  whether  you  can 
tyrannize  over  me  or  not,"  Claire  answered  with  final- 
ity, and  she  went  out. 

Claire  climbed  to  her  room,  and  shut  and  locked  her 
door.  This  was  not  the  first  time  that  she  and  Dudley 
had  engaged  in  open  conflict.  That  they  had  not  done 
so  from  the  beginning  was  because  Claire  had  submitted 
resolutely  to  him  at  first,  in  order  to  avoid  what  had  just 
occurred,  but  she  had  soon  understood  that,  to  retain  her 
self-respect,  she  must  abandon  such  a  course,  and  she 
had  made  an  issue  of  the  first  incident  which  would  serve 
her  purpose.  Dudley  expected  absolute  submission 
from  her  so  much  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  he  had 
taken  it  for  granted  from  the  first,  in  spite  of  his  assur- 
ances to  the  contrary.   He  delighted  in  spending  money 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  327 

on  her,  loading  her  with  presents  of  Paris  gowns,  jewelry, 
motors,  and  furs,  as  a  man  may  lavish  money  on  a  prosti- 
tute who  has  enslaved  him  by  the  appeal  of  her  physical 
fascinations,  but  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  occa- 
sions might  arise  where  she  might  wish,  and  have  the 
right,  to  make  decisions  in  opposition  to  his  own. 

Claire  knew  when  she  had  decided  on  this  course  that 
it  would  be  a  difficult  one  to  follow  because  she  had  be- 
come well  aware  of  the  absolute  inflexibility  of  Dudley's 
nature.  She  doubted  if  he  would  ever  yield  an  inch  on 
any  point  whatever.  But  she  had  decided  that  she 
would  not  yield  either.  She  must  either  submit  to  be 
Dudley's  slave,  or  prepare  herself  for  a  struggle  the  end 
of  which  she  could  not  see;  and  in  this  struggle  she  had 
hoped  for  one  thing,  that  it  might  be  carried  on  with 
calmness  on  both  sides,  and  not  degenerate  into  the  un- 
dignified quarrels  she  had  witnessed  occasionally  among 
his  married  friends. 

Claire  thought  of  these  things  as  she  stood  by  her 
window.  Of  Dudley's  displeasure  at  her  first  assertion 
of  independence,  their  recurring  disagreements,  and 
their  periods  of  harmony  which  failed  to  conceal  the  in- 
creasing antagonism  which  was  growing  up  between 
them ;  but  to-night  to  her  surprise  she  was  not  unhappy. 
She  felt  curiously  calm  and  resolute.  The  conditions  of 
her  married  life  had  for  months  weighed  heavily  on  her 
spirit,  but  to-night  all  that  had  passed. 

She  seated  herself  in  her  darkened  room,  a  little  to  one 
side,  so  that  she  could  look  diagonally  up  at  the  evening 


328  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

sky  which  glowed  faintly  between  the  somber  profiles  of 
the  surrounding  roofs;  and  under  that  sky  the  teeming 
earth,  with  its  incalculable  variety  of  act  and  incident, 
of  endeavor  and  accomplishment,  was  seething  around 
her;  and  from  that  world  she  would  not  be  shut  away. 
She,  too,  would  play  her  part  in  it,  in  that  glittering  and 
fascinating  fabrication  whose  changing  surfaces  were 
shot  through  with  the  flashing  colors  of  genius,  romance, 
heroism,  sacrifice,  and  love. 

And  love  —  that  luminous  something,  pale,  amor- 
phous, which  had  exalted  her  spirit  once  before  —  had 
returned  again,  brighter,  warmer,  more  irresistible.  She 
lifted  her  face.  It  seemed  to  descend  from  the  stars,  to 
rain  down  on  her,  a  soft  and  golden  flood.  Like  Danse, 
she  surrendered  herself  to  it,  and  with  this  surrender  a 
supreme  felicity  enveloped  her,  a  supreme  gift  seemed 
to  have  been  poured  into  her  soul. 

Love  —  ah!  and  she  smiled,  hiding  her  face  in  her 
hands. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

Dinner  had  been  announced,  and  Claire,  a  little  late, 
was  making  haste  on  the  last  details  of  her  toilet.  Her 
door  stood  open.  She  could  hear  Jamie's  step  on  the 
floor  of  his  room,  and  the  air  he  was  whistling  resounded 
through  the  spaces  of  the  house.  His  step  sounded  on 
the  stair,  and  as  he  passed  her  door  —  he  rarely  stopped 
there  now  —  she  called  to  him  with  their  old  call. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  and  came  in.  "Where's  Dud- 
ley?" 

"Gone  to  the  country  to  look  at  a  house,  Jamie." 

"Will  Helena  be  in  for  dinner?" 

"She  has  gone,  too." 

"Where?" 

"With  Dudley." 

"Oh!"  And  he  added  presently,  "I  don't  see  why 
Helena  should  be  looking  at  a  country  house  with  Dud- 
ley. It  is  n't  any  affair  of  hers." 

"But  I  could  n't  go,  Jamie.  Dudley  did  n't  say  any- 
thing about  it  until  the  last  moment,  and  I  had  an  en- 
gagement. You  know  how  he  hates  to  do  anything 
alone." 

"I  say,  let's  dine  somewhere.  The  Brevoort's  just 
around  the  corner." 

"It's  too  late,  Jamie,  dinner  is  ready  now.  We  might 


330  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

go  afterward  for  a  little  while,  and  have  our  coffee 
there." 

"Right-o,"  Jamie  answered,  and  they  went  down- 
stairs arm  in  arm.  They  had  not  been  alone  together 
for  so  long  that  Claire  could  hardly  remember.  Jamie 
was  thinking  the  same  thing. 

"This  is  like  old  times,"  he  said;  and  added  guard- 
edly, "You  know  this  cook  — " 

"Well,  what,  Jamie?" 

"Puts  too  much  cream  in  everything." 
'    Claire  laughed.   It  did  seem  like  old  times.    "Some 
chefs  always  do  that." 

"Well,  there's  nothing  like  good  old-fashioned  home 
cooking.  So  Dudley 's  gone  to  look  for  a  house ! " 

"Yes,  it  will  soon  be  getting  too  warm  in  town." 

Summer  in  truth  was  coming,  but  Claire  had  hardly 
noticed.  Something  had  come  into  her  life  at  last,  which 
filled  it  completely.  She  had  not  seen  Felix  since  the 
night  Dudley  had  lost  his  temper,  or  pretended  to,  and 
while  she  both  longed  and  feared  to,  immersed  in  her 
secret  dreams,  she  waited. 

Jamie  said:  "I  say,  Claire,  Helena  never  used  to 
bother  about  us,  unless  she  wanted  something  —  what's 
the  explanation?  Is  it  because  you've  got  so  much 
more  money  than  you  used  to  have?" 

"I  don't  know,  Jamie;  it's  just  happened,  I  suppose." 

"Just  happened ! "  Jamie  repeated  scornfully.  "  Don't 
you  believe  that  things  just  happen  with  Helena  —  I 
know  better  than  that!" 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  331 

"Well,  I  don't  care,  Jamie,  one  way  or  the  other." 

"I  don't  either,"  Jamie  answered,  "only  I  would  just 
like  to  let  her  know  that  I  see  through  her.  It 's  awfully 
convenient  to  have  a  house  like  yours  to  stop  at  in  New 
York,  when  she  happens  to  want  to." 

It  had  become  customary  for  Helena  to  stop  there. 
Adelaide  had  gone  to  her  distant  hotel  to  economize, 
and  Helena  found  Ninth  Street  a  convenient  resting- 
place  between  various  visits.  Dudley  liked  to  have  her 
there,  and  for  that  reason  Claire  liked  it  too. 

"Well,  let's  go  now,"  Jamie  said.  They  rose  from  the 
table,  and  descending,  walked  slowly  toward  the  Ave- 
nue. To  Claire  the  mildness  of  the  day  recalled  so  much 
of  those  parts  of  her  life  in  which  Jamie  had  had  a 
share.  Always,  it  seemed  to  her,  spring  and  summer 
had  found  them  closer  together,  sauntering  together 
under  the  early  leafage,  in  the  warm  relaxation  of  tepid 
and  balmy  breezes,  under  the  amber  translucence  of 
late  afternoon,  or  the  shadowy  dusk  of  evening.  She 
slid  an  arm  through  one  of  his. 

"Ah,  how  nice  it  is,  Jamie!"  But  she  knew  that  the 
exultation  which  lifted  her  spirit  higher  than  any  influ- 
ence of  past  impressions  could  have  done,  was  because 
she  was  about  to  see  Felix. 

They  crossed  the  Avenue.  The  strains  of  an  orchestra 
escaped  with  a  blaze  of  light  from  the  open  windows  of 
the  upper  restaurant. 

"Let's  go  downstairs,  Jamie;  it's  quieter." 

They  went  into  one  of  the  lower  rooms,  and  as  Claire 


332  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

had  known  he  would  be,  Felix  was  there.  He  was  read- 
ing a  letter.  The  room  was  almost  empty.  Jamie  cried, 
"Hello,  there's  Mallette,"  and  hurried  over  to  him. 
Claire  followed.  Felix  was  holding  a  letter  in  his  hand, 
and  as  he  rose,  his  eyes  caught  hers,  and  it  seemed  to 
her  that  she  could  not  look  away  from  him,  and  that 
her  own  were  saying  to  him,  so  that  he  could  not  fail  to 
understand,  "I  am  here  because  I  love  you." 

"We've  come  in  for  our  coffee,"  said  Jamie;  "I  see 
you're  having  yours.  Let's  have  ours  here,  too,  Claire 
—  that  is,  unless  you  want  to  finish  your  letter." 

"Please  do,"  Felix  answered;  "as  for  my  letter,  I 
know  it  by  heart.  It's  from  my  father.  I'm  going 
home." 

It  seemed  to  Claire  that  she  could  not  speak.  Some- 
thing which  fluttered  in  her  bosom  for  a  moment  choked 
her.  All  her  exultation  of  spirit  dropped  away.  She 
heard  Jamie  say,  "On  your  own  terms,  I  hope,"  and 
fought  desperately  to  master  herself. 

"Yes,  our  rivals  have  been  trying  some  experiments 
in  cooperation  with  such  success  that  it  has  become 
necessary  for  us  to  do  something  too." 

"How  glad  you  must  be  to  go!"  Claire  murmured; 
and  this  time,  as  he  looked  at  her  she  strove  to  return 
his  look,  as  if  by  doing  so  she  were  saying,  "I  am  brave 
and  indifferent.  What  I  said  to  you  was  not  true.  Go, 
it  does  n't  matter.  I  am  very  strong"  —  but  she  was 
not  strong  enough,  and  her  eyes  fell  before  his.  For  a 
moment  Felix  paused  — 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  333 

"No,  I  am  not  glad.  At  one  time  I  might  have  been, 
but  I  am  not  now.  Still,  I  must  go.  It  is  better  that  I 
should/' 

Again  Claire's  spirit  fluttered  upwards.  Did  he 
know?  And  did  his  answer,  too,  imply  a  confession? 
She  longed  to  say,  "But  if  you  do  not  want  to  go,  stay." 
Jamie  would  not  understand,  but  she  dared  not.  Indeed 
she  must  not,  say  it. 

"But,  Mallette,"  Jamie  exclaimed,  "it's  so  romantic! 
It's  like  something  out  of  a  book.  But  the  trouble  is,  we 
shall  never  see  you  again." 

Yes,  that  was  the  trouble.  She  would  never  see  him 
again.  That  would  be  the  end.  She  felt  that  she  must 
be  alone  with  him,  if  even  for  a  moment,  for  five  min- 
utes, really  alone  together,  as  they  had  not  been  for  so 
long.  She  must  manage  this  to-night  if  she  could.  It 
might  be  her  last  chance.  In  some  way  she  must  think 
of  what  to  do. 

"But  you  would  be  coming  to  England,  no  doubt," 
Felix  said.  "It  would  never  do  for  us  to  let  so  small  a 
thing  as  distance  destroy  an  old  friendship  like  ours." 

And  while  he  addressed  himself  to  Jamie,  Claire 
knew  that  he  spoke  to  her,  and  she  feared  that  what  he 
meant  was,  that  in  distance  and  time  lay  their  only 
hope;  and  in  his  tone,  the  expression  of  his  eyes,  there 
was  a  finality  which  she  rebelled  against.  She  would 
not  have  it  so.  She  must  think  of  something,  so  that 
fate  might  not  bind  and  separate  them.  If  she  could 
manage  to  be  with  him  with  no  barrier  between  them, 


334  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

something  might  come  of  it,  some  method  of  solution  at 
present  unknown  to  her. 

"By  the  way,"  she  heard  Jamie  say,  "my  waltz  is 
out.  I  bought  a  copy  of  it  at  a  music  store  this  after- 
noon.  I  meant  to  show  it  to  you,  Claire!" 

Claire  saw  instantly  that  fate,  relenting,  was  giving 
her  her  chance. 

"Why  Jamie,  how  thrilling!  Where  is  it?" 

"At  the  house." 

"But  I  must  see  it  —  I  can't  wait.  Run  and  get  it, 
do.  It's  only  a  step." 

"  Shall  I?  "  Jamie  wavered,  and  then  with  the  light  of 
parental  pride  shining  in  his  eye,  rose  and  seized  his  hat. 

"All  right;  I'll  be  back  in  a  second." 

But  when  they  were  alone,  she  could  not  speak.  The 
electric  lights  burned  too  intensely.  The  room  was 
empty  except  for  a  waiter,  who  stood  looking  at  them. 
She  saw  a  strip  of  paper  lying  beside  Jamie's  plate,  and 
beckoning  him,  she  paid  the  bill.  The  blaze  of  light 
which  filled  the  room  seemed  to  lay  bare  her  soul. 

"It  is  stifling!"  And  she  got  up,  saying  to  the  waiter, 
"When  the  gentleman  who  was  here  just  now  comes 
back,  tell  him  that  we  are  walking  to  the  Square.  It  is 
so  warm  here." 

The  Square  teemed  with  life,  under  the  pale  trans- 
parencies of  leaves  made  luminous  by  the  electric 
lights,  but  near  the  outer  edge  they  found  an  empty 
bench  submerged  in  the  shadows  of  a  denser  foliage,  and 
as  they  sat  down,  Felix  spoke. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  335 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "why  —  why  did  you?" 

"I  did  n't  know,"  she  answered.  "I  never  knew  until 
—  until  —  And  I  was  so  alone,  and  so  afraid  —  and 
you  were  not  here.  If  you  had  been  here  I  would 
have  known." 

"But  to  know  now,  when  it  is  too  late  — " 

"Ah,  Felix,  why  did  n't  you  tell  me  before  you  went 
away?" 

"How  could  I?  I  had  nothing  —  nothing  to  offer  you. 
And  now  it  is  too  late." 

"No,  no,  it  is  sweet  to  know,  even  now." 

"But  I  must  go.  I  must  not  stay." 

"Yes,  you  must  go,  but  now  that  we  know,  don't  you 
see  that  time  and  distance  won't  so  much  matter?  I 
will  have  my  secret,  and  you  yours.  But  if  you  had 
gone  without  our  knowing  — !" 

"And  can  you  be  content,  Claire  —  what  a  beautiful 
name  —  and  how  beautiful  you  are  —  can  you  be  con- 
tent with  that?" 

"No,  I  shall  not  be  content,  but  it  will  be  very  sweet, 
Felix,  cherishing  my  secret  love.  Because,  no  matter 
where  I  am,  I  shall  be  with  you.  At  night,  in  my  dreams, 
I  shall  be  with  you.  When  I  am  with  other  people,  doing 
the  daily  things  of  daily  life,  I  shall  be  with  you  always." 

"And  you  will  be  content  with  that?" 

"No,  I  said  that  I  would  not  be  content,  but  it  will 
keep  me  from  being  too  unhappy  —  and,  Felix,  you 
must  not  be  unhappy  either,  because  something  — 
since  I  have  been  sitting  here  —  something  tells  me  that 


336  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

this  is  not  the  end  for  us  —  that  it  is  only  the  beginning. 
Go  and  work  to  do  what  you  had  hoped  to  do  in  Lon- 
don. And  I  must  work,  too  —  unless  somehow  I  find 
work  to  do,  I  —  I — " 

"Ah,  my  darling,  don't,  don't — " 
In  the  shadow  she  turned  on  him  the  misty  starlight 
of  her  eyes,  and  suddenly,  oblivious  for  a  moment  of  the 
material  world,  their  lips  met,  and  they  drew  together 
in  a  passionate  embrace.  For  a  moment  she  rested  in 
his  arms,  a  delicious  burden;  she  seemed  to  droop,  to 
relax,  her  head  dropped  for  a  moment  to  his  shoulder, 
and  he  smelt  the  fragrance  of  her  hair.  A  sigh  passed 
her  lips.  Her  tears  stopped.  A  sudden  exhaustion 
seemed  to  have  weakened  her  limbs,  but  she  disengaged 
herself,  and  lifting  her  head,  said  again,  almost  to  her- 
self— 

"Yes,  I  must  work,  too.  Ah,  Felix,  what  can  I  do?" 

The  hope  born  of  the  realization  that  they  loved  each 

other  seemed  to  die  down  under  the  growing  pressure, 

the  unescapable  fact.    Felix  seemed  about  to  speak, 

paused,  and  began  — 

"I  was  going  to  say  —  but  no,  I  will  not." 
Claire  put  a  hand  on  his  —  "No,  no,  Felix  —  you 
were  going  to  ask  me  to  come  with  you,  but  it  would  n't 
do." 

"Yes,  I  will  say  it.   Come  with  me,  Claire." 
"It  wouldn't  get  us  anywhere,  Felix.    It  wouldn't 
solve  anything.  No,  we  must  wait.  Oh,  Felix,  we  must 
think  of  what  it  would  have  been  if  you  had  gone  with- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  337 

out  our  knowing.  Now,  we  know.  We  must  n't  forget 
that.  And  now  we  must  go  —  Jamie  will  be  looking  for 
us." 

"Claire,  I  can't,"  Felix  cried  —  "I  can't  let  you  go! 
I  will  stay  here;  sometimes,  at  least,  we  will  be  able  to 
see  one  another." 

"It  would  n't  do,  dear,  really  it  would  n't.  It  would 
be  worse,  much  worse,  for  both  of  us.  You  must  go, 
Felix.  You  have  your  chance  now,  and  you  must  take 
it." 

Once  more  he  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"Please,  Felix,  we  must  go.  Jamie  must  be  wondering 
where  we  are."  She  tried  to  rise,  but  he  held  her. 

"But  this  is  not  good-bye,  Claire." 

She  stooped  and  touched  her  lips  quickly  to  his. 
"No,"  she  breathed  softly,  "I  shall  see  you  again.  I 
shall  manage,  but  we  must,  we  really  must  go."  And 
under  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  with  clasped  hands,  close 
together,  they  moved  slowly  toward  the  Avenue. 

Jamie  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  They  turned  back  to 
the  Square,  sought  him  there  without  success,  and  re- 
turned to  the  restaurant.  The  waiter  said  he  had  not 
been  there,  but  as  they  reached  the  street  again  they 
saw  him  turn  the  corner  of  Ninth  Street,  and  cross 
hurriedly  toward  them,  and  it  struck  Claire,  although 
she  immediately,  for  the  moment,  forgot  it,  that  he 
looked  agitated,  anxious,  and  preoccupied.  He  ap- 
proached them  quickly,  and  said,  "Did  you  think  I 
was  never  coming?   Dudley  was  there,  and  —  and  de- 


338  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

tained  me."  He  held  a  white  roll  under  his  arm,  but 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  about  it,  until,  upon  Claire's 
speaking  of  it,  he  unrolled  it,  and  all  three  looked  at  it 
as  he  held  it  up  so  that  light  from  a  neighboring  street 
lamp  would  fall  upon  its  surface.  He  held  it  thus  for  a 
moment,  and  then  thrust  it  again  under  his  arm. 

Claire  said,  "How  pretty  it  looks,  Jamie"  — per- 
functorily; but  Jamie,  in  his  preoccupation,  did  not 
notice  hers. 

Claire  gave  her  hand  to  Felix,  and  as  he  pressed  it 
she  said,  "Good-night";  and  in  spite  of  Jamie's  pres- 
ence, "I  will  write  you.  I  will  send  you  word  very,  very 
soon." 

At  the  door  Jamie,  who  had  not  spoken,  said,  "I'm 
not  coming  in  just  yet,  Claire."  He  held  out  the  sheet 
of  music,  —  "Would  you  mind  taking  it  in?" 

Claire  found  Dudley  in  the  drawing  room.  He  was 
smoking  a  cigar,  and  a  glass,  a  siphon,  and  a  decanter 
of  whiskey,  stood  on  the  table. 

"Where's  Helena?"  she  asked. 

"Gone  to  bed!" 

"Did  you  find  something  pretty?" 

"It  was  pretty  enough,  but  the  house  was  too  small. 
I  don't  know  whether  I  shall  take  one,  after  all.  Do 
you  mind?" 

"Not  at  all,  Dudley." 

"Well,  we'll  see."  He  emptied  his  glass  and  rose. 
"I  think  I'll  go  to  bed.  Good-night." 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  339 

He  picked  up  the  tray  containing  the  decanter  and 
siphon,  and,  balancing  it  before  him,  carried  it  up- 
stairs. Claire  closed  one  of  the  French  windows  which 
stood  open,  turned  out  the  lights,  left  one  burning  in 
the  hall,  and  went  to  her  room.  She  was  filled  with 
mingled  feelings  of  happiness  and  shame.  She  wished 
to  be  alone,  and  yet  she  wished,  too,  that  Dudley  might 
have  stayed  with  her,  so  that  she  might,  by  her  kindness 
to  him,  by  some  subtle  charm  of  behavior,  make 
amends  to  him  for  the  wrong  she  was  doing  him.  But 
as  she  stood  in  her  room,  looking  straight  before  her, 
she  was  conscious  that  her  happiness  was  crumbling 
under  the  pressure  of  an  accusative  discontent  which 
she  could  not  escape. 

She  went  to  her  desk,  and  wrote  these  lines  quickly 
and  without  hesitation  — 

Now  that  I  have  had  a  moment  to  think,  I  know  that  we  must 
not  see  each  other  again. 

She  signed  it,  addressed  an  envelope  to  Felix,  sealed 
it,  and  locked  it  in  her  desk. 

That  was  the  least  she  could  do,  and  as  she  reviewed 
the  past  since  her  marriage,  it  seemed  to  her  that  a 
revolting  egotism  had  been  absorbing  her,  making  her 
oblivious  to  her  responsibilities  to  Dudley.  She  ac- 
knowledged to  herself,  now,  that  she  had  married  him 
because  she  knew  that  he  would  make  the  future  safe 
for  her.  Besides,  for  the  moment,  he  had  swept  her  off 
her  feet;  but  she  had  never  been  other  than  a  free  agent, 


340  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

there  had  not  been  anything  of  duress  about  it;  and  yet, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  had  made  this  bargain  with 
less  sincerity  than  had  Dudley,  she  had  not  had  the 
pluck,  had  not  been  sporting  enough,  to  take  her  medi- 
cine without  complaining.  She  had  even  blamed  Dud- 
ley, and  yet  at  the  first  opportunity  had  forgotten  her 
obligations  as  his  wife.  Claire  flushed  now,  miserable, 
and  angry  with  herself.  She  had  been  contemptible  but 
that  was  past  now,  and  in  the  future  — 

Jamie's  step  sounded  stealthily,  and  yet  unsteadily 
on  the  stairs,  and  in  a  moment  he  pushed  her  door  open 
and  came  in,  closing  it  after  him.  Claire  saw  at  once, 
not  only  that  he  had  been  drinking,  but  that  he  was 
suffering  from  the  effects  of  some  shock,  or  from  illness; 
and  yet  he  seemed  to  be  endeavoring  to  control  a  con- 
dition of  strong  agitation  or  excitement.  Claire,  alarmed, 
took  a  step  toward  him. 

"What  is  it,  Jamie?"  —  But  he  interrupted  her  — 

"Claire,"  he  said,  in  a  whisper,  "you  must  get  out  of 
here!" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"You  can't  stay  in  this  house  another  night!"  He 
began  walking  unsteadily  up  and  down,  a  prey  to  an 
almost  uncontrollable  excitement.  "Pack  a  bag  now. 
I'll  go  with  you  —  " 

"But,  Jamie,  what  is  it?  Tell  me!" 

"I  can't,"  he  answered.  Suddenly  he  raised  a  fist, 
and  shook  it  in  the  direction  of  Dudley's  room.  "Damn 
his  soul!"  he  cried.   "Come  Claire,  we  must  go!" 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  341 

"Hush!  But,  Jamie,  listen  to  me!  What  is  it?  What 
has  he  done  to  you?" 

"He  hasn't  done  anything  to  me.  He's  done  it  to 
you.  He's  made  it  impossible  for  you  to   stay  here." 

"But,  Jamie,  what  —  " 

"Good  God,  can't  you  understand  —  Helena!  When 
I  came  for  the  music  —  " 

Under  the  shock  of  this  revelation  they  fell  apart  in 
silence,  but  Jamie  seemed  to  stagger,  and  in  a  moment 
Claire's  arms  were  about  him. 

"Don't  bother,  dear,  it  will  be  all  right,  and,  Jamie, 
you've  been  so  good  lately." 

"I  know,  Claire  —  I  took  one  drink  —  I  was  so  —  it 
made  me  so  —  " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know;  it's  all  right." 

"But,  Claire,  you  won't  stay,  you  can't  stay  now!" 

"I  must  think  what  to  do."  But  to  herself  she  said, 
"I  am  no  better  than  he." 

"Are  you  going  to  let  her  sleep  in  this  house  to- 
night?" he  demanded. 

"Jamie,  please  be  quiet,  some  one  will  hear  you.  You 
must  let  me  think!  We  can't  do  anything  to-night. 
Listen,  Jamie,  does  Dudley  know  that  —  that  —  " 

"I  think  so.  I  think  he  heard  me  coming  downstairs 
afterwards.  He  stopped  me  and  asked  me  where  you 
were  and  I  said  I  was  going  to  get  you  at  the  Brevoort. 
But  if  he  does  n't  know  now,  he  will  know,  because  I 
intend  to  tell  him  —  the  beast  —  I  intend  to  —  " 

"Jamie,  please." 


342  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

The  door  opened,  and  Dudley  came  in.  He  was  in  his 
pajamas,  which  revealed  the  muscular  curve  of  his 
chest  and  the  sweep  of  his  powerful  thighs.  His  feet 
were  thrust  into  a  pair  of  evening  pumps. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  said,  coming  in  and  shut- 
ting the  door.   "Drunk  again,  are  you?" 

Jamie  swayed  again  slightly. 

"Not  drunk  exactly,  but  I've  had  a  drink.  I  took  it 
after"  —  Jamie  hesitated,  to  gather  courage  —  "after 
seeing  something  that  happened  in  this  house  this 
evening." 

"And  you've  been  telling  Claire,  have  you?" 

"Yes." 

Dudley  made  a  quick  step  toward  him,  but  Claire 
with  one  movement  stood  between  them. 

"Dudley,"  she  cried,  warningly,  "be  careful!  Jamie, 
go  to  bed!" 

"I'm  going  to  break  his  damned  little  sneaking  neck!" 

"You're  not  going  to  touch  him!  Jamie,  go  up- 
stairs." And  as  Jamie,  stubborn  and  belligerent,  hesi- 
tated, she  stamped  her  foot  —  "Jamie!"  she  cried,  per- 
emptorily, "go  upstairs,  do  you  hear?" 

Jamie  made  for  the  door,  and  as  he  passed  Dudley, 
purposely  brushing  close  to  him,  he  glared  at  him  with 
an  expression  of  concentrated  bravado  and  defiance. 
The  door  shut  after  him,  Dudley  broke  into  a  short 
laugh  — 

"He's  got  his  nerve  with  him.  The  little  fool!  Well, 
what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  343 

"Nothing,  Dudley." 

"Why?" 

"Because  this  evening,  in  the  Square,  sitting  under 
the  trees,  I  told  a  certain  man  that  I  loved  him.  I  was 
in  his  arms;  I  kissed  him  —  If  it  had  been  here,  in  this 
house,  who  knows  what  might  have  happened?" 

Dudley  listened  as  if  he  could  not  believe  his  senses, 
and  noticing  his  dawning  expression  of  bewilderment, 
rage,  and  displeasure,  Claire  felt  a  wild  desire  to  laugh, 
to  burst  into  peal  after  peal  of  hysterical  laughter  at 
the  sordid  irony  of  the  situation. 

"So,  Dudley,  what  can  I  do?  Nothing,  it  seems  to 
me." 

"Who  was  it?" 

"I  shall  not  tell  you." 

"You  need  n't  —  it  was  your  actor  friend.  If  I  find 
him  I'll  shoot  him." 

Jamie  must  have  said  something  which  enabled  Dud- 
ley to  make  this  conjecture. 

"Do  you  expect  me  to  shoot  Helena?  "Claire  asked. 

"It  is  n't  the  same  thing." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  all  men  have  more  than  one  woman,  and  I 
am  like  the  rest.  I  supposed,  of  course,  you  knew  and 
expected  it." 

"That  kind  of  cynicism  is  pretty  dreadful,  Dudley; 
and,  besides,  what  you  say  is  n't  true,  and  you  know  it 
is  n't.  All  men  are  n't  like  that,  and  you  know  that  I 
did  n't  expect  anything  of  the  kind." 


344  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  \ 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"In  the  light  of  what  you  have  just  said,  I  probably 
shall  do  something  now.  Will  you  ask  Helena  to  leave 
the  house?" 

"No." 

"I  mean  in  the  morning." 

"She  was  going,  anyway.  Look  here,  Claire,  we 
haven't  been  getting  on  well  together  lately.  I'm 
ready  to  give  you  everything  you  want,  but  I  've  got  to 
lead  my  own  life." 

"Will  you  let  me  take  the  man  I  told  you  about,  as 
my  lover?" 

"Are  you  crazy?  Go  ahead,  and  I'll  divorce  you. 
And  another  thing;  don't  think  you  can  hoodwink  me, 
because  you  can't." 

"But  I  don't  understand  —  you  want  your  freedom, 
and  will  not  give  me  mine." 

"No!"    Dudley  thundered;  "and  if  you  try  to  de- 


ceive me  —  " 


"I  shall  not  try  to  deceive  you,"  Claire  answered 
wearily;  "let's  stop  this  conversation;  it's  too  beastly. 
I'm  tired;  I  want  to  go  to  bed.  I  want  time  to  think  a 
little." 

But  when  she  was  alone,  she  could  not  think.  She 
could  dream,  but  she  could  not  think.  And  she  dreamed 
that  she  lay  once  more  in  Felix's  arms.  She  tried  not  to, 
but  she  could  not  help  it.  She  unlocked  her  desk,  took 
out  the  note  she  had  written  to  him,  tore  it  up,  and  after 
she  had  destroyed  it,  wrote  it  again,  and  fearing  that 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  345 

her  present  determination  might  waver,  she  put  on  a 
hat,  and  going  downstairs  she  let  herself  out  into  the 
street.  It  was  about  eleven  o'clock.  She  went  to  the 
corner  of  Sixth  Avenue,  and  stood  struggling  with  her- 
self for  a  moment  before  committing  the  note  to  the 
irrecoverable  depths  of  the  letter-box.  As  she  turned 
to  retrace  her  steps,  she  saw  people  running  into  Eighth 
Street,  a  block  way.  Curiosity,  and  a  spirit  of  adven- 
ture, caused  her  to  follow  them.  A  police  wagon  and  an 
ambulance  stood  in  front  of  one  of  the  tenements,  and 
as  she  joined  the  crowd  three  police  officers  burst  out 
of  the  doorway,  struggling  with  the  swarthy,  powerful 
man  who  lived  with  the  little  foreign  creature,  oppo- 
site Claire's  window.  Blood  was  running  down  his  face 
from  an  abraded  scalp,  his  clothing  was  torn  and  di- 
sheveled, and  he  struggled  so  desperately  that  as  they 
reached  the  pavement  the  policeman  tripped  him.  One 
seized  his  throat  and  began  choking  him;  another  drew 
his  arms  back,  while  the  third  handcuffed  him,  and  then, 
angered  by  his  resistance,  they  lifted  him  bodily  and 
hurled  him  into  the  wagon.  His  head  struck  a  corner  of 
the  bench  which  ran  along  each  side  of  the  interior  of 
the  wagon,  and  he  collapsed  limply  on  the  floor.  Claire 
was  thrilled  and  frightened  by  the  savagery  and  vio- 
lence of  the  scene. 

Two  of  the  policemen  had  returned  to  the  tenement, 
and  while  she  still  watched  they  came  out  again  with 
the  ambulance  surgeon.  They  were  carrying  a  stretcher, 
and  Claire  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  small  head,  covered 


346  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

with  smooth,  blue-black  hair.  Claire  pressed  through 
to  the  officer  who  stood  beside  the  police  wagon. 

"Has  he  killed  her?"  she  asked  breathlessly. 

"Not  this  time,,,  the  officer  answered,  "but  he's  a 
bad  one.  We've  had  trouble  with  him  before.  He'll 
kill  her  some  day,  that's  certain,  if  she  goes  on  living 
with  him." 

"But  why  does  she?"  Claire  asked.  "Why  doesn't 
she  leave  him?" 

"Well,  ma'am,  the  poor  can't  do  much  to  help  them- 
selves," the  policeman  answered.  He  was  large,  com- 
fortable, and  middle-aged.  "What  could  she  do?  Sup- 
pose she  took  French  leave  with  her  baby,  where  could 
she  go?  She  could  n't  hire  a  flat  anywhere,  because  she 
has  n't  the  price.  If  she  had,  she  could  n't  afford  to  buy 
even  a  bed  to  sleep  on.  Everything  they  've  got  in  the 
world  is  in  those  two  rooms ! " 

"I'll  see  that  she  gets  the  money,"  Claire  exclaimed. 
"I  suppose  if  I  went  to  the  hospital  to-morrow,  I  could 
see  her,  if  she's  well  enough?" 

"Yes,  you  could  see  her.  This  would  be  a  good  chance 
if  you  want  to  do  anything  for  her.  He  '11  get  sent  up  for 
thirty  days  at  least.  Still,  it  won't  be  easy.  When  they 
get  out  they  always  seem  to  find  them  again." 

Claire,  making  a  mental  note  of  the  name  of  the  hos- 
pital which  was  painted  on  the  side  of  the  ambulance, 
returned  to  the  house,  and  let  herself  in.  The  two 
rooms  of  the  flat  opposite  hers  were  brightly  illuminated, 
and  occupied  by  a  number  of  women.  One  of  them  held 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  347 

a  baby,  and  was  endeavoring  to  quiet  it.  Others  seemed 
to  be  making  a  desultory  attempt  to  tidy  up,  while 
others  occupied  the  few  rickety  chairs  the  place  afforded. 
The  door  into  the  passage  beyond  stood  open,  and 
Claire  could  see  the  figures  of  men  moving  about,  and 
through  this  opening  children  passed  in  and  out.  The 
entire  population  of  the  tenement  seemed  to  have  been 
roused,  and  to  have  come  down  to  the  scene  of  the 
drama. 

The  name  of  the  hospital  kept  recurring  to  her.  It 
was  unknown  to  her,  and  opening  her  telephone  book 
she  found  that  it  was  in  a  strange  quarter  on  the  East 
Side.  In  the  morning  she  would  find  it,  and  it  occurred 
to  her  suddenly  that  if  she  could  find  work  to  do  in  such 
a  place,  it  would  be  what  she  wanted.  Work  in  the  na- 
ture of  an  expiation  for  the  dissatisfaction  she  felt,  the 
distaste  for  her  past  and  present  lethargy.  Hard,  diffi- 
cult, and  repulsive  work,  expiatory,  and  absorbing,  too, 
so  that  she  might  forget.  That  is  what  she  would  do,  if 
she  could  find  a  way.  Absorb  herself  in  work.  Ignore 
the  present;  let  its  problems  solve  themselves  if  they 
would,  and  by  efforts  more  altruistic  than  she  had 
known  before,  forget  the  past. 


CHAPTER  XX 

Claire,  the  next  morning,  heard  Dudley  descend  the 
stairs,  then  Helena,  and  just  as  she  had  finished  dress- 
ing, Jamie,  who  knocked  at  her  door.  Jamie  was  him- 
self again. 

"  They  Ve  both  gone  in  a  taxi,"  he  said.  "  I  saw  them 
out  of  the  front  window.  They  did  n't  stop  for  break- 
fast. Look  here,  Claire,  I  can't  stay  here  now;  it  will  be 
impossible.  You  can't  either.  What  are  you  going  to 
do?" 

"I  don't  know  yet,  Jamie,  what  I  shall  do,  but  I  know 
what  I  would  do  in  your  place  —  go  to  Paris." 

"Really,  Claire?"  Jamie's  face  lighted  for  a  moment, 
and  then  grew  dubious.   "But,  Claire,  how  can  I?" 

"I  have  money  enough." 

In  thinking  of  the  uncertain  future,  she  had  felt  that 
she  would  be  less  hampered  alone,  and  that  Jamie  must 
not  be  with  her,  but  Paris  only  recurred  to  her  at  the 
moment.  "Would  you  like  to  go,  Jamie?" 

"Would  I !  But,  Claire,  would  n't  you  need  me  here?  " 

"No,  Jamie.  I  'd  rather  feel  that  you  were  doing  what 
you've  always  wanted  to.  I  might  even  come  to  join 
you  later,  and  you  could  have  a  place  there  ready  for 
me.  You  really  would  like  to  go?" 

"I'd  love  it,  Claire,  if  you're  sure  it  would  be  all 
right.  When  do  you  suppose  — ?  " 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  349 

"Why,  any  time." 

"How  about  George?" 

"We  won't  say  anything  to  George,  or  any  one  else. 
We'll  just  go  ahead  and  do  it." 

George  was  now  in  Dudley's  office  and  was  occupying 
a  very  modern  bachelor  flat  farther  uptown. 

"Shall  we  go  to  Cook's  after  breakfast,  and  look  up 
the  sailings?" 

At  this  indication  of  the  concrete  nature  of  Claire's 
proposition,  Jamie's  face  lighted  up  once  more,  and  as 
they  went  down  to  breakfast  together,  his  whistle 
echoed  cheerfully  through  the  house. 

"Shall  I  telephone  for  the  car?"  he  broke  off  to  ask. 

"No,  let's  walk,  Jamie."  And  immediately  after 
breakfast  they  started,  but  as  Claire  was  about  to  enter 
the  steamship  agency,  she  drew  back.  Jamie  noticed, 
and  said,  "What's  the  matter?"  —  and  Claire  was 
given  no  choice.  She  went  in.  Felix  was  standing  at  the 
counter.  Claire  flushed  and  trembled.  All  her  determi- 
nation had  been  called  into  play  to  write  and  post  that 
second  letter,  and  now  another  drain  upon  her  strength 
was  asked  of  her. 

"I  wonder  if  he  is  as  tired  as  I  am,"  Claire  asked  her- 
self; and  indeed  he  looked  fatigued  and  sad. 

"When  are  you  going,  Felix?"  Jamie  asked. 

"The  day  after  to-morrow,"  Felix  answered. 

"I  am  going,  too!"  Jamie  announced  triumphantly. 

"When?"  Felix  said  quickly. 

"We  don't  know  yet.  Very  soon." 


350  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"Let  him  come  with  me,  Mrs.  Orville"  —  Felix's 
look  was  so  imploring,  so  charged  with  what  she  knew 
him  to  be  feeling  at  that  moment,  that  Claire  herself 
found  it  difficult  not  to  betray  her  own  emotion. 

"But  he  is  going  to  Paris." 

"But  he  could  go  by  way  of  England.  Let  him  come 
with  me.  If  he  cared  to  stop  with  me  a  week  in  London, 
I  promise  that  I  will  go  with  him  to  Paris  for  a  day  or  so, 
and  see  that  he  gets  properly  installed  there." 

This  had  been  the  flaw  in  Claire's  plan  —  Jamie's 
first  arrival  in  Paris,  alone  —  and  Felix's  proposal  could 
not  have  been  more  opportune.  Jamie  had  moved  over 
to  speak  to  one  of  the  clerks,  and  Felix  added  in  an  un- 
dertone: 

"Your  note  came  this  morning.  That  is  why  I  am 
here.   Oh,  Claire,  must  it  be  so?" 

"You  know  it  must.  Don't  make  it  any  harder." 

"Then  let  him  come  with  me.  He  will  be  a  tie  be- 
tween us.  I  won't  feel  then  that  I  have  lost  you  ut- 
terly." 

Jamie  approached  again. 

"Could  you  be  ready  by  the  day  after  to-morrow, 
Jamie?" 

"I  could  be  ready  this  afternoon.  I  suppose  I  could 
get  my  trousers  pressed  on  board  —  eh,  Felix?  All  I 
really  need  is  time  to  pack,  and  a  traveling-cap.  It's  too 
good  to  be  true  —  but"  —  and  his  expression  changed 
suddenly  —  "you're  sure,  Claire?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  Claire  answered  hurriedly. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  351 

"Shall  I  see  you  once  more?"  Felix  asked  while 
Jamie  was  getting  his  passage. 

"Perhaps  —  please  go  now,  Felix  —  perhaps,  at  the 
boat  —  and  perhaps  sometimes  I  shall  send  a  message 
by  Jamie." 

"And  you  love  me  —  tell  me  once  more." 

"Yes,  yes,  always  —  please,  Felix  —  good-bye." 

Her  eyes  were  brimming.  She  turned  away  quickly. 
She  must  be  strong.  It  did  n't  matter  what  Dudley  had 
done  to  her,  she  would  expiate  what  she  had  done  to 
him,  the  whole  injustice  of  her  marriage  to  him,  and  her 
subsequent  disloyalty  in  thought  and  action. 

"I  say,  Claire,"  Jamie  said  later,  "do  you  think  I'd 
better  dine  at  home?  I  don't." 

"No,  don't,  Jamie;  just  keep  out  of  Dudley's  way. 
He  and  I  will  settle  matters  somehow,  and  a  third  per- 
son only  makes  it  more  difficult." 

But  Orville  did  not  come  to  Ninth  Street  to  dinner, 
nor  did  he  return  that  night.  This  was  on  Monday.  On 
Tuesday  morning  Claire  found  a  short  note  from  him, 
saying  that  George  would  come  down  and  have  a  talk 
with  her  on  the  following  day,  but  that  in  the  mean- 
time he,  Dudley,  thought  it  best  not  to  go  to  Ninth 
Street.  There  was  nothing,  therefore,  to  prevent  Jamie's 
coming  and  going  as  he  pleased,  until  Wednesday. 

Jamie  was  to  leave  the  house  immediately  after 
breakfast  on  Wednesday  morning,  for  the  boat.  Claire 
found  that  there  were  many  things  which  she  could  get 
for  him,  and  she  spent  most  of  Tuesday  in  shopping. 


352  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

Jamie  himself  was  busy  packing.  She  reached  home 
late  Tuesday  afternoon,  her  car  filled  with  boxes  con- 
taining a  quantity  of  small  things  she  had  been  buying 
for  him.  She  had  them  taken  to  his  room,  where  she 
found  him  in  his  shirt-sleeves.  A  trunk  stood  at  the  foot 
of  his  bed,  a  hat-box  and  two  bags  rested  on  a  table  and 
chairs,  and  as  this  pretty  well  filled  his  room,  another 
trunk  had  been  placed  just  outside  his  door.  The  bed 
♦was  piled  with  a  variety  of  things,  shirts,  trousers,  hats, 
and  cravats. 

Claire,  in  spite  of  her  unhappiness,  could  not  forbear 
laughing  — 
|    "Are  you  going  to  take  all  this?" 

Jamie  looked  up  in  surprise  —  "Why,  yes.  I'm  tak- 
ing all  I've  «got.  Just  as  well  to  be  prepared  for  emer- 
gencies. Besides,  I  don't  know  when  I  shall  be  back." 

"Why  not  get  some  clothes  in  London,  Jamie?  A 
week  will  give  you  plenty  of  time.  And  you  don't  need 
a  hat-box.  London  is  the  place  for  top  hats,  is  n't  it?" 

"Ra-fAer,"  Jamie  answered. 

"If  I  were  you  I  would  only  take  one  trunk  and  your 
bags,  and  no  hat-box  at  all.  Just  take  your  very  best 
things,  and  get  measured  for  whatever  you  need,  in  Lon- 
don. When  you  get  your  top  hat,  buy  a  hat-box  for  it, 
too." 

"Oh,  Claire,  you  are  a  brick!"  She  could  see  that  he 
was  touched,  and  putting  her  arms  about  him,  she  said, 
"And  you  will  be  good,  Jamie?" 

"I  swear  it,  Claire;  and  I  want  to  tell  you  something. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  353 

Each  time  I've  told  you  that  before,  I  was  n't  sure  of 
myself.  Now  I  am.  I'm  on  the  right  track  now.  But 
look  here,  I've  got  to  rearrange  all  this."  And  he  began 
turning  out  the  contents  of  his  trunks,  an  absurd  mis- 
cellaneous collection  in  addition  to  his  clothing,  which 
made  Claire  laugh  again. 

By  seven,  however,  the  trunk  and  the  two  bags,  with 
Claire's  help,  were  completely  packed,  and  Claire  went 
to  her  room  to  change  her  dress  for  dinner.  As  she  came 
downstairs,  Jamie  was  hanging  up  the  telephone  re- 
ceiver. "I've  just  had  Felix  on  the  'phone,"  he  an- 
nounced, "to  make  sure  that  everything  was  all  right. 
I  told  him  we  'd  meet  him  by  the  gangplank  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"Oh,  Jamie!"  cried  Claire,  involuntarily. 

"What?"  Jamie  asked. 

"Nothing  —  that  is,  did  we  put  in  your  new  dressing- 
gown?" 

"Catch  me  leaving  that  out!   It's  a  beauty,  Claire." 

She  had  hoped  that  some  chance  would  enable  her  to 
see  Felix  once  more,  in  the  morning,  but  Jamie  had 
made  it  impossible.  Her  sensitiveness  caused  her  to 
shrink  from  the  possibility  of  Felix  construing  Jamie's 
appointment  as  a  message  from  her.  And  yet  she  still 
hoped,  and  after  dinner,  as  they  sat  in  the  drawing- 
room,  she  struggled  to  adhere  to  a  resolve  she  had  made, 
not  to  go  with  Jamie  to  the  boat. 

Outside,  the  waning  day  was  passing  in  a  glow  of  vio- 
let, pink,  and  gold,  melting  slowly  into  dusky  blue.   A 


354  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

soft  gloom  filled  the  drawing-room  lighted  only  by  the 
single  lamp  which  burned  by  the  piano,  where  Jamie 
sat.  Claire,  sunk  in  the  silken  cushions  of  her  chair, 
rested  in  silence,  in  the  shadows  cast  by  the  faint  light 
which  still  filled  the  street. 

"What  was  that  pretty  song  you  played  so  long  ago, 
Jamie?  —  the  verses  of  some  English  poet  you  set  to 
music  —  Dowson,  I  think  —  'All  that  I  had,  I 
brought.'" 

"Yes,  I  know!"  And  Jamie  began  to  play,  and  as  he 
played,  she  heard  Mallette  repeating, 

"  All  that  I  had,  I  brought, 
Little  enough  I  know; 
A  poor  rhyme  roughly  wrought, 
A  rose  to  match  thy  snow  — 
All  that  I  had,  I  brought/' 

Ah,  love,  ah,  yearning!  The  minor  of  Jamie's  melody 
gave  voice  to  all  Claire's  unuttered  and  unutterable 
thoughts.  She  remembered  well  the  night,  long  ago, 
when  Jamie  had  played  it,  when  life,  like  some  gorgeous, 
beautiful,  and  strange  flower,  seemed  about  to  open  for 
her.  Alas,  it  had  bloomed  too  late!  All  that  she  had,  she 
had  brought;  but  now,  it  could  not  matter.  She  did  not 
know  that  Jamie  had  stopped,  until  she  saw  that  he  was 
standing  beside  her,  looking  down  at  her. 

"Claire,  what  is  it?  How  can  I  leave  you  with  that 
brute?" 

"You  could  n't  help,  Jamie.  George  is  coming  down, 
to-morrow,  and  then  we  can  decide.  There's  nothing  to 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  355 

worry  about.  Come,  now,  you  must  go  to  bed.  You 
must  be  very  tired." 

But  they  did  not  go  until  Claire,  getting  up,  said,  late 
in  the  evening,  that  she  could  not  keep  awake  a  moment 
longer;  but  when  they  reached  Claire's  room,  something 
having  occurred  to  Jamie,  he  stopped  there,  and  they 
began  to  talk  once  more.  Jamie  finally  said  "good- 
night," and  climbed  to  his  room,  but  he  had  hardly 
lighted  his  pipe  and  surrendered  himself  to  a  rapt  con- 
templation of  the  future,  when  his  door  opened,  and 
Claire  entered.  She  had  forgotten  something  which  she 
wished  to  mention,  or  was  reluctant  to  leave  him.  They 
began  to  play  with  the  situation  humorously,  tenderly, 
and  yet  half  sadly. 

"Jamie,  really  I  must  go  now  — " 

"All  right,  but  what  was  it  you  were  going  to  say 
about  learning  French?" 

"I've  told  you  twice.  You're  inventing  excuses  to 
make  me  stay." 

Jamie,  not  being  able  to  think  of  anything  for  the 
moment,  Claire  asked: 

"Do  you  think  you  can  make  your  letter  of  credit 
last  for  six  months,  Jamie?" 

"Two  thousand  dollars !  I '11  make  it  last  a  year;  you  '11 
see."  And  a  discussion  followed  on  the  best  way  to 
live  economically  in  Paris.  It  was  two  o'clock  before, 
straining  in  a  final  embrace,  they  said  "good-night." 

"How  shall  we  ever  be  ready,  Jamie?  We  must  leave 
by  nine." 


356  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

But  at  nine,  when  Jamie's  taxi  arrived,  they  were 
quite  ready.  Jamie's  trunk  was  fastened  on,  and  they 
got  in.  On  the  way  they  were  silent  at  first,  but  sud- 
denly Jamie  said: 

"Look  here!  You  should  n't  have  married  him." 

"It  is  n't  altogether  his  fault,  Jamie." 

"But  you  were  so  much  too  good  for  him.  I  used  to 
say  that  our  family  valued  certain  things  too  much;  but 
Dudley  does  n't  value  anything.  I  mean,  there  is  noth- 
ing in  the  world  that  Dudley  venerates.  There  is  nothing 
that  is  capable  of  lifting  him  up,  of  exalting  him.  Chil- 
dren might  for  a  time,  but  that's  about  all.  Another 
thing,  Claire.  He's  like  that  —  about  women  —  I've 
been  hearing  things  lately.  He's  always  been  like  that. 
You  'd  better  divorce  him,  Claire." 

"I'll  see,  Jamie." 

As  they  approached  the  dock,  Claire  said  with  an 
effort: 

"I  think  I  won't  go  in  with  you,  Jamie." 

Jamie  looked  at  her  with  quick  disappointment. 

"Won't  Felix  think  it's  rude?" 

"  Tell  him  —  tell  him  that  leave-takings  like  this  are 
so  difficult;  I  mean  the  waiting,  and  all  that.  He'll  un- 
derstand. And  then,  it's  hard  to  let  you  go,  Jamie!" 

The  taxi  had  stopped  before  the  entrance  to  the  pier, 
and  Jamie  sat  for  a  moment  with  a  very  sober  face. 

"Come,  Jamie,  you  must  go." 

Jamie  roused  himself,  said  "Bing!"  with  an  air  of 
bravado,  found  himself  in  Claire's  embrace,  for  a  mo- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  357 

ment  embracing  her,  and  then  descended  to  the  street. 
A  porter  had  already  seized  his  luggage.  He  thrust  his 
head  in  at  the  door  — 

"Good-bye,  Claire  —  good-bye." 
"Good-bye,  Jamie,  good-bye  —  good-bye." 
She  watched  his  slim  figure  as  it  receded  quickly  down 
the  long  perspective  of  the  pier,  and  to  Claire,  in  the 
stoop  of  his  back  as  he  pushed  forward,  the  set  of  his 
shoulders,  the  eager  swing  of  his  legs,  the  slant  of  his 
stick  and  his  elbows,  he  symbolized  youth  setting  out  on 
one  knew  not  what  superb  adventures.  He  faced  about 
and  waved  to  her.  Farther  and  farther  he  receded  into 
the  mingled  lights  and  shadows  of  the  pier,  growing 
smaller  and  still  smaller,  until,  turning  again,  he  waved 
once  more,  and  vanished,  a  pigmy  among  the  crowd  of 
pigmies  swarming  toward  its  distant  end. 

At  the  house,  Maggie  stopped  her  in  the  lower  hall. 

"Mr.  George  is  here,"  she  said  in  a  whisper,  "and 
when  he  found  that  Mr.  Jamie  had  gone  away,  he  had 
a  long  talk  with  Mr.  Orville  on  the  telephone.  I  know, 
because  I  heard  him  call  the  office  number." 

Maggie  knew  other  things,  too,  evidently.  George  was 
waiting  for  her  in  the  drawing-room. 

"What's  this  I  hear  about  Jamie's  going  away? 
Maggie  says  — " 

"Yes,  he's  off  to  Paris.  I've  just  come  from  the 
dock." 

"To  Paris  —  what  the  — " 


358  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"He  always  wanted  to  go,  and  now  he's  gone." 

George  turned,  and  led  the  way  into  Dudley's  den, 
closed  the  door,  and  lowering  his  voice  to  a  portentous 
whisper,  he  said,  solemnly: 

"Look  here,  Claire,  what's  this  Dudley's  been  telling 
me  about  you  and  Mallette?" 

A  flush  of  crimson  Claire  could  not  control  suffused 
her  face. 

"I  should  think  you  would  blush;  I  should  think  you 
would!  To  think  that  my  sister  — " 

"Is  that  the  reason  Dudley  left  the  house?" 

"Of  course  it  is!" 

"I  never  thought  before  that  Dudley  was  a  hypo- 
crite.  Did  he  tell  you  anything  about  himself?  " 

"Yes,  but  that's  an  altogether  different  thing.  To 
think  that  you,  the  sister  I've  always  looked  up  to, 
could  so  far  forget  — " 

"George  if  you  insist  on  talking  that  kind  of  non- 
sense, I  shall  not  listen  to  you.  What  do  you,  or  what 
does  Dudley  want?" 

"Dudley  wants  a  divorce." 

"Do  you  mean  that  he  would  be  willing  to  expose 
Helena,  if  I  should  consent,  to  such  a  scandal?" 

"He  proposes  to  divorce  you." 

"I  never  heard  anything  so  absurd  in  my  life!"  Claire 
cried,  now  thoroughly  angry  —  "especially  after  what 
Jamie  — " 

"But  Jamie  is  n't  here." 

"I  see!  That  altered  the  situation,  did  n't  it?  I  sup- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  359 

pose  that  was  the  reason  you  telephoned  Dudley,  when 
you  found  out  that  he  had  gone." 

George  winced  perceptibly. 

"All  I've  got  to  do  is  to  cable  him,  and  he'll  come 
back  again.   I  'm  not  an  utter  fool,  George.'* 

"  Dudley  can  put  you  in  a  very  awkward  position  so 
far  as  money  goes,  Claire;  but  he  really  feels  terribly 
about  the  whole  thing." 

"No,  he  does  n't,  George.  Dudley  never  feels  terribly 
about  anything.  I  wronged  Dudley  in  marrying  him. 
I  know  that,  and  he  knows  it,  too,  but  I  feel  much  more 
terribly  about  it  than  he  does.  Dudley  is  too  strong,  too 
impervious,  ever  to  be  made  really  unhappy  by  any- 
thing. The  only  thing  about  the  situation  that  is  of  help 
to  me  is  that  I  am  beginning  to  realize  that  I  have  hurt 
myself  much  more  than  I  have  hurt  him.  Wait  a  mo- 
ment, I  must  get  you  something  I  want  you  to  give  him." 

Claire  ran  upstairs,  opened  her  secret  safe,  and  took 
from  it  her  jewel-case  of  morocco  leather.  In  it  was  all 
her  jewelry :  the  superb  new  necklace  Dudley  had  given 
her,  the  older  one,  her  rings,  earrings,  watches,  and 
bracelets.  She  looked  once  at  their  lambent  or  sparkling 
coruscations,  closed  the  lid  again,  and  going  downstairs, 
placed  the  case  in  George's  hands. 

"Please  give  this  to  Dudley,  and  tell  him  that  I  shall 
not  be  his  mistress  any  longer,  and  that  he  had  better 
give  this  to  his  new  favorite,"  indicating  the  new  neck- 
lace. 

"Do  you  know  what  this  is  worth?"  George  de- 


360  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

manded.  "Dudley  told  me  he  paid  a  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollars  for  it.  Do  you  mean  to  say  you're 
going  to  give  it  back  to  him?" 

"Yes,  I  am  going  to  give  it  back.  Do  you  know  why 
he  gave  it  to  me?  As  a  quid  pro  quo  for  allowing  him  to 
do  what  he  pleased.  I  did  n't  understand  at  the  time, 
but  I  do  now." 

"Look  here,  Claire,  would  you  be  willing  to  sue 
Dudley  for  a  divorce,  and  leave  Helena  out  of  it?" 

"How  could  I?" 

"I  mean  if  he  were  willing  to  get  you  the  necessary 
evidence  —  with  some  one  else." 

"Is  n't  that  what  they  call  collusion?" 

"That's  what  they  call  it,  yes,  but  — " 

"But  I  can't,  George;  I  don't  believe  in  that  sort  of 
thing.   You  have  no  right  to  ask  me." 

"You  admit  that  you  should  n't  have  married  Dudley 
and  yet  you  refuse  to  give  him  his  freedom." 

"I  don't  refuse.  He  is  free,  is  n't  he?  He's  not  living 
here." 

"But  suppose  he  should  want  to  marry?" 

"I  see!  So  that's  what  Helena's  after.  Very  well, 
I  have  n't  the  slightest  objection  to  Helena's  marrying 
Dudley,  but  I  shall  not  take  part  in  any  conspiracy  to 
enable  her  to.  Suppose  I  sue  Dudley,  and  name  Helena 
as  co-respondent." 

"Good  Heavens!"  cried  George  in  consternation. 
"You  would  n't  do  that,  would  you?" 

"No,  I  would  n't,"  Claire  answered. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  361 

"And  you  won't  consent  to  do  it  the  other  way?  " 

"I  can't,  George." 

"Very  well.  Then  I '11  have  to  see  Dudley  again  about 
it."  And  George,  with  an  injured  air,  took  his  departure. 

It  was  luncheon-time,  and  Claire  went  into  the  din- 
ing-room, but  immediately  afterwards  she  left  the  house, 
crossed  the  Square,  walked  down  under  the  Elevated, 
and  took  one  of  the  little  cross-town  cars,  small  and 
shabby,  with  wooden  benches  running  along  the  sides 
covered  with  strips  of  threadbare  carpet  so  begrimed 
that  she  could  hardly  bring  herself  to  sit  on  them.  In 
this  vehicle  she  began  to  penetrate  wide  districts  which 
she  had  never  seen  before,  teeming  with  immense  swarms 
of  people,  mostly  foreign,  choking  the  entire  roadway, 
until  she  reached  the  street  on  which  the  hospital  stood. 
The  police  officer  had  told  her,  the  night  before,  the  car 
to  take,  and  on  getting  out  she  found  herself  within  half 
a  block  of  her  destination.  It  was  a  small  red-brick 
building  about  five  stories  high.  She  mounted  the  three 
steps  which  led  to  the  front  door,  opened  it,  and  found 
herself  in  a  vestibule,  where  an  oldish,  dowdy  woman, 
in  a  nurse's  uniform,  sat  at  a  table. 

"I  came  to  inquire  about  a  poor  woman  who  was 
brought  here  last  night,"  Claire  explained. 

"What  name?"  the  nurse  demanded  perfunctorily. 

"I  don't  know  her  name,"  Claire  answered. 

"What  address?" 

"I  don't  know  the  number;  she  lived  in  Eighth 
Street,  in  a  tenement." 


362  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

The  problem  of  identifying  the  patient  seemed  to 
present  insuperable  difficulties  to  the  nurse,  but,  luck- 
ily, at  that  moment  a  door  close  at  hand  was  pushed 
open,  and  another  woman  entered.  She  was  a  blonde 
of  a  pronounced  German  type,  with  a  good-natured 
but  inefficient  face,  and  with  a  throaty  quality  of  voice 
which  Claire  found  unpleasant. 

"Here's  the  head  nurse,"  the  first  woman  said,  glad 
of  an  opportunity  to  get  Claire  off  her  hands.  "She 
may  know  something  about  it."  And  Claire  stated  her 
errand. 

"A  little  dark  thing?"  the  head  nurse  asked.  "She 
won't  be  leaving  here  for  a  good  while." 

"Was  she  badly  hurt?"  Claire  asked. 

"He  beat  her  pretty  badly;  but  it  is  n't  that.  It's 
wonderful  what  some  of  them  can  stand.  She's  sick, 
anyway  —  acute  anaemia." 

Claire  could  not  remember  that  she  had  ever  heard  of 
acute  anaemia,  and  asked  if  it  were  dangerous.  The 
nurse  answered,  "Yes,"  and  stared  at  her;  adding, 
"Have  you  ever  been  in  a  hospital  before?" 

"No,"  Claire  replied,  "but  I  thought  perhaps  I 
might  like  —  I  mean,  I  do  want  to  get  work  in  one.  Do 
you  think  you  could  take  me?" 

The  head  nurse  threw  her  head  back  and  laughed 
shrilly.  "Well,  you  don't  know  much,  do  you?  You'd 
better  see  what  one  is  like  first." 

"Is  it  very  dreadful?" 

The  head  nurse  did  not  understand  what  Claire 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  363 

meant;  she  had  plainly  never  put  this  question  to  her- 
self. 

"It's  a  way  to  make  a  living,  like  anything  else. 
Would  you  like  to  see  it?" 

"Yes,  I  would,"  Claire  answered. 

The  head  nurse  rose,  and  opening  the  door  by  which 
she  had  come  in,  entered  one  of  the  wards,  followed  by 
Claire,  who  found  herself  at  once  in  an  atmosphere 
charged  with  the  odor  of  disinfectants.  She  had  a  con- 
fused impression,  afterwards,  of  a  number  of  rooms  con- 
taining rows  of  beds,  some  filled  with  men,  and  some 
with  women,  some  lying  still,  others  reading  newspapers, 
nurses  moving  about,  and  each  containing  an  atmos- 
phere as  of  something  hovering  not  far  away,  as  of 
some  immanent  presence.  In  a  corner  of  one  ward  she 
saw  a  small  head  with  glossy,  smooth,  blue-black  hair. 
The  covering  of  the  bed  indicated  a  slight,  small  form, 
which  lay  completely  motionless,  so  far  as  Claire  could 
tell,  even  without  breath.  The  head  nurse  hurried  Claire 
through  the  wards  and  returned  to  her  office.  Claire 
was  repelled,  made  ill  almost,  not  so  much  by  what  she 
actually  saw  as  at  what  her  imagination  told  her  the 
real  life  of  such  a  place  would  reveal  to  her,  and  yet  she 
determined  to  find  work  here  or  in  some  similar  place, 
if  it  were  possible.  She  meant  to  know  something  of 
life  beyond  her  narrow  orbit,  to  sound  its  depths,  to 
learn  what  it  had  to  offer  to  that  outcast  army  Mallette 
and  others  were  trying  to  help. 

"Do   you   still   think   you'd    like   to   come?"    the 


364  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

head  nurse  asked,  when  they  had  returned  to  her 
office. 

Claire  replied  that  her  mind  was  still  unchanged. 

"Well,  there's  one  way  you  can  do  it.  You  can  take 
a  course  uptown  as  a  trained  attendant,  and  you  can 
volunteer  for  hospital  work  here  if  you  want  to.  It  is  n't 
obligatory,  but  if  you  did,  you  would  be  expected  to 
come  here  three  times  a  week.  I  don't  suppose  there 
would  be  any  objection  to  your  coming  oftener  if  you 
wanted  to." 

"How  long  does  the  course  last?"  Claire  asked. 

"Three  months." 

"And  could  I  begin  at  any  time?" 

"Yes,  any  time." 

Claire  took  the  address  and  rose  to  go  — 

"You're  sure  you  want  to  try  it?"  the  nurse  asked 
warningly.  "You  don't  look  as  if  you'd  ever  done 
much  work,  and  it  is  n't  easy." 

"I  am  very  strong,"  Claire  answered,  "and  I  really 
want  to.  If  they  will  take  me,  you  will  see  me  again." 

When  she  reached  home  she  found  George  waiting  for 
her  once  more.  He  advanced,  and  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"Have  you  thought  it  over?" 

"There  was  n't  anything  to  think  over,  George." 

"Then  it's  going  to  be  war!  Is  that  it?"  he  asked 
portentously. 

"Oh,  George,  don't  be  so  absurd." 

"Well,  Dudley's  pretty  angry,  and  you  know  what 
he's  like  when  he  gets  started." 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  365 

"But  what  can  I  do?  Dudley  wants  me  to  consent 
to  a  conspiracy  in  order  that  he  may  get  his  freedom, 
and  in  order  that  Helena  may  be  protected.  I  don't 
object  to  any  part  of  Dudley's  programme  —  perhaps 
I  ought  to  call  it  Helena's  —  except  the  conspiracy, 
and  that  I  do  object  to." 

"Dudley  has  made  up  his  mind  that  you  must  con- 
sent." 

"And  if  I  don't?" 

"Then,  as  I  said,  it  will  be  war." 

"In  that  case  it  will  be  Dudley  who  declares  war, 
not  I." 

"Look  here,  Claire,  do  be  reasonable.  You  don't 
know  how  nasty  Dudley  can  be,  and  he's  determined  to 
get  his  freedom  immediately.  I  must  say  you  made  a 
mistake  in  sending  Jamie  away.  It  weakened  your 
position  tremendously." 

"I  have  n't  any  position.  But,  George,  if  I  refuse  to 
live  with  him,  I  am  deserting  him  —  are  n't  I?  Is  n't 
desertion  a  ground  for  divorce?  Could  n't  he  get  it  from 
me?" 

"Yes,  but  it  takes  too  long." 

"How  long?" 

"About  a  year;  but  he'd  have  to  establish  a  residence 
in  the  West." 

"I'm  sure  he  could  do  it  if  he  wanted  to.  That  is  the 
only  way,  George,  even  if  it  does  take  a  little  longer.  I 
could  n't  consent  to  the  other.  It's  too  disgusting  and 
sordid." 


366  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

George  went  away,  but  in  the  evening,  as  Claire  sat 
reading  a  book,  in  Dudley's  den,  the  bell  rang,  and  in  a 
moment  he  appeared  for  the  third  time.  He  closed  the 
door,  and  held  out  the  jewel-case  Claire  had  given  him. 

"Dudley  understood  why  you  sent  back  the  large 
necklace,  but  the  other  things,  he  says,  belong  to  you." 

"That's  very  nice  of  him,  George,  but  I'd  rather  he 
kept  them." 

"He  says  he  won't  take  them." 

"I  don't  want  him  to  be  kind  to  me,  George,  because 
I  can't  do  what  he  wants  me  to.  Please,  I  'd  rather  not 
keep  them." 

George  received  the  jewel-case  again  with  a  show  of 
reluctance,  and  said:  "But  we've  got  to  get  this  thing 
settled  one  way  or  another.  Dudley  says  he  will  be 
very  generous  if  you'll  get  a  divorce  as  he  suggested. 
He  will  give  you  the  evidence,  and  it  can  be  tried  before 
a  referee,  so  that  there  won't  be  any  publicity." 

"  Does  he  think,  when  I  refused,  that  I  expected  to  be 
bribed?  I  won't  take  anything,  George." 

"You  mean  you  won't  do  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Why  can't  you  be  reasonable?  He's  determined  to 
get  it.  You  have  n't  got  anything,  Claire.  The  house  is 
his.  You  have  n't  any  money  in  the  bank,  have  you?" 

"Not  much." 

"And  you've  got  Jamie  on  your  hands.  If  you  do 
what  Dudley  wants,  you'll  be  independent  for  life.  If 
you  don't,  you  '11  have  practically  nothing." 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  367 

"And  to  be  independent  I  must  engage  detectives, 
and  be  a  party  to  a  really  sordid  conspiracy.  I  shall 
not  do  it.  I  refuse  to  live  with  Dudley,  and  in  some 
States  that  is  ground  for  divorce.  Let  him  get  it  from 
me." 

"Then,  if  that  is  your  final  decision,  I  have  done  all  I 
can,  and  you  must  take  the  consequences,"  George  an- 
swered soberly;  and  he  got  up. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  you're  rather  siding  with  Dud- 
ley, George." 

"No,  I'm  not,  Claire.  Of  course,  we're  in  pretty  deep 
together,  in  various  ways;  but  I  really  can't  see  things 
as  you  see  them;  neither  can  Dudley.  Well,  good-night, 
I'll  help  you  all  I  can,  of  course." 

"Do  you  really  mean  that  you  can't  see  that  people 
ought  n't  to  do  that  kind  of  thing?" 

"They're  doing  it  all  the  time,"  George  answered. 

"But  that  is  n't  answering  my  question." 

"I  really  think  you're  splitting  hairs,"  was  George's 
final  retort. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

Claire  called  the  next  morning  at  the  address  given  by 
the  head  nurse,  paid  the  necessary  fee,  and  on  the  follow- 
ing Monday  began  her  course  as  a  trained  attendant 
She  did  not  apply  for  hospital  work  at  once,  because  of 
her  complete  lack  of  experience,  and  it  was  not  until 
a  month  later  that  she  saw  the  hospital  again.  During 
this  time  she  was  taught  the  preliminary  course  of  first 
aid,  the  care  of  the  sick  in  emergency,  the  care  of  con- 
valescents and  of  infants.  Later,  how  to  make  beds 
while  occupied,  marvelously  simple  when  once  demon- 
strated, various  forms  of  baths,  to  take  the  tempera- 
ture, respiration,  and  pulse.  Later  still,  the  emergency 
treatment  of  fractures  and  hemorrhages,  how  to  ban- 
dage arms,  legs,  shoulder  blades,  ankles,  heads,  and 
eyes  —  the  care  of  all  the  accidents  man  is  heir  to  in 
the  turmoil  of  city  life;  how  to  note  appearances  and 
symptoms;  the  significance  of  paleness,  flush,  emacia- 
tion, obesity.  She  learned  that  there  was  a  right  way 
and  a  wrong  way  to  give  medicine.  She  learned  the 
names  of  bones,  and  studied  the  processes  of  circulation; 
the  emergency  care  of  people  when  under  the  influence 
of  drink  or  narcotics;  the  diet  necessary  in  different 
ailments;  ventilation,  light,  rubbings,  washings,  and 
feedings. 
All  this  Claire  found  intensely  interesting,  and  yet 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  369 

she  dreaded  the  time  when  she  must  put  it  into  prac- 
tical application. 

One  day,  on  returning  to  Ninth  Street,  she  found 
that  an  agent  had  placed  a  sign  on  the  house,  announc- 
ing that  it  was  for  sale  or  for  rent.  She  had  determined 
to  close  it  and  send  the  keys  to  Dudley,  but  she  had 
been  so  occupied  with  her  new  work  that  she  had  lacked 
the  energy  requisite  for  the  necessary  packing  and  the 
discharge  of  the  servants;  and  yet  these  resolves  failed 
to  mitigate  the  shock  she  received  on  seeing  the  sign. 
It  came  as  a  slap  in  the  face.  A  notice  to  quit,  imper- 
sonal, and  yet  implacable.  She  flushed  as  she  saw  it, 
crossed  at  once  to  Aunt  Kate's,  and  rang  the  bell. 

The  door  was  opened  by  Weston.  His  jaws  were 
working  in  a  final  effort  before  swallowing,  and  he 
smelt  unmistakably  of  chocolate  creams.  Claire  knew 
that  he  was  inordinately  fond  of  sweets.  She  had  with 
an  effort,  but  with  the  aid  of  a  strong  sense  of  family 
solidarity,  succeeded  in  learning  to  call  him  "Will." 

"How  do  you  do,  Will?"  The  name  always  sounded 
extraordinarily  banal  when  she  used  it  in  addressing 
Weston.  "Is  Aunt  Kate  at  home?"  —  but  before  she 
could  answer,  the  smallish  dog  bustled  into  the  drawing- 
room,  seeming  to  say,  "Well,  I  never!  Sorry  to  be  late, 
but  I  got  here  as  soon  as  I  possibly  could";  and  imme- 
diately disappeared  under  the  drawing-room  sofa  in 
response  to  a  negligent  kick  which  Will  had  applied  to 
its  hindquarters. 

"Yes,  Kate's  upstairs  —  Kate!  Kate!  Here's  Claire. 


370  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

(She  '11  be  right  down.)  By  the  way,  have  you  heard  my 
new  exposition  of  'The  Niebelungen'?  Well,  it's  the 
greatest  ever.  I  did  it  for  Schluch  the  other  day,  and 
what  do  you  suppose  he  said?  "  Will  had  seated  himself 
at  the  piano.  Prestissimo,  fortissimo,  crash,  bang,  bang, 
br-r-r-r-r-r-r —  tum-ti-tum-ti-tum.  "Curtain  rises,  re- 
vealing the  Rhine  Maidens  guarding  the  Rheingold. 
Sinuous  movement  of  flutes  and  violins.  Motive  num- 
ber one — " 

"For  goodness  sake,  shut  up!  Claire  hasn't  come 
over  to  listen  to  you!"  This  from' Kate,  who  had  come 
in,  and  was  unable  to  make  herself  heard.  "  Claire,  come 
upstairs." 

The  place  smelt  of  old  cigarettes  and  general  staleness. 
Will  stopped,  unmistakably  offended. 

"He  makes  so  much  noise  about  the  place  you  can't 
hear  yourself  think  —  come  on,  Claire."  And  as  Claire 
followed  her,  thinking  of  her  first  call  with  Kate,  and 
that  Will's  Wagnerian  expositions  had  plainly  lost 
much  of  their  potency,  Kate  asked  in  an  undertone, 
"What  have  you  put  a  sign  on  your  house  for?" 

"Dudley  and  I  have  agreed  to  disagree." 

"I  thought  that  might  be  it.  I  suppose  you  know  a 
little  more  about  men  than  you  did  before  you  got 
married!  So  do  I." 

"I  wanted  to  know  if  I  could  have  a  room  here.  I 
would  pay  for  it,  of  course." 

"Have  you  made  any  kind  of  an  arrangement  with 
Dudley?" 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  371 

"Not  yet,"  Claire  answered,  not  wishing  to  go  into 
details;  "but  I  intend  to  close  the  house,  and  I  want  a 
place  to  live." 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do?  You  must  make 
Dudley  give  you  a  big  allowance." 

"I  will  see,  Aunt  Kate.  I  can't  tell  yet;  but  until  I 
know  definitely  I  would  like  to  come  here,  if  I  might." 

Kate,  finding  that  Claire  was  not  inclined  to  be  com- 
municative, finally  got  up,  and  showed  her  a  room  which 
she  said  she  could  give  her.  To  Claire's  surprise  —  Kate 
was  notoriously  close-fisted  —  she  refused  to  discuss 
payment  for  it,  saying  that  Claire,  for  the  present  at 
least,  must  stay  there  as  her  guest. 

Claire  recrossed  the  street  and  plunged  into  the 
process  of  terminating  her  domestic  affairs.  Dudley 
had  sent  no  intimation  as  to  the  outstanding  bills,  and 
Claire  paid  them  herself.  She  discharged  and  paid  the 
servants,  with  the  exception  of  Maggie,  who  was  to  be 
taken  by  Kate  as  soon  as  Claire  had  finished  with  her. 
Innumerable  letters  and  papers  must  be  destroyed.  All 
her  finery,  trunk  upon  trunk  of  hats,  shoes,  and  gowns, 
were  packed  for  storage  in  Kate's  cellar.  She  kept  out 
only  what  she  immediately  needed.  She  wished  to  strip 
herself,  as  an  athlete  strips  for  the  contest,  for  the  battle 
she  was  soon  to  take  part  in,  and  as  the  end  of  these 
labors  approached,  she  began  to  feel  free;  her  shackles 
were  dropping  away  from  her.  She  would  lift  her  arms, 
straining  the  muscles  of  her  shoulders,  and  look  up  and 
forward,  as  if  awaiting  some  signal.   Ah,  how  she  had 


372  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

hated  that  sheltered  and  stupid  past!  Life,  like  some 
strange  flower,  was  finally  about  to  open.  Perhaps  not 
beautiful,  perhaps  at  first  even  sordid  and  terrible,  but 
at  least  a  test  of  courage,  a  struggle,  a  straining,  deep 
inhalations,  the  play  of  fortitude  and  hope,  and  per- 
haps somehow,  at  last,  in  some  way  she  could  not 
understand,  Felix  coming  for  her,  searching  for  her, 
and  finding  her.  The  final  and  stark  realization  of  the 
impossible  nature  of  her  relations  with  Dudley,  and  her 
deliverance  from  them,  made  her  careless  of  the  future. 
After  paying  the  servants  and  the  house  bills,  she  had 
not  much  left,  a  thousand  dollars  or  so;  but  she  did  not 
care.  She  possessed  herself.  She  was  free  to  come  and 
go,  to  swing  on  the  tides  of  life,  careless  of  material 
things.  Even  Jamie,  away  and  dependent,  did  not,  in 
her  present  mood,  arouse  anxiety,  and  it  was  without 
regret  that  she  turned  the  key  in  its  lock  and  left  the 
house  for  the  last  time. 

The  expressmen  had  taken  her  numerous  trunks 
across  the  street,  and  had  carried  the  one  she  had  packed 
for  immediate  use  up  to  her  room.  She  had  followed 
them,  and  on  their  departure  had  closed  her  door  with 
the  intention  of  unpacking;  but  she  did  not  begin.  She 
had  seen  the  room  only  once  before,  a  casual  glance  into 
a  darkened  apartment,  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  she 
had  not  known  until  now  that  it  contained  her  old  fur- 
niture. She  had  told  Kate  to  take  what  she  wanted 
when  Dudley  had  decided  on  completely  refurnishing 
and  renovating,  and  even  to  the  rug  on  the  floor,  the 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  373 

window  curtains,  and  the  bed,  all  her  old  things  were 
there.  They  seemed  to  say  to  her:  "So  glad  to  have  you 
back!  Sit  down  and  rest  a  little." 

When  in  response  to  a  dowdy  maid's  announcement 
of  dinner,  she  descended  the  stairs,  she  saw  in  the  sitting- 
room  on  the  second  floor  some  of  the  saddle-bag  furni- 
ture, and  on  one  wall  the  painting  by  Neolini,  and  when 
in  the  dining-room  Maggie  began  to  bump  the  dishes 
down,  something  she  had  had  no  opportunity  to  do  since 
the  advent  of  the  harmonious  Japanese  butler,  it  seemed 
almost  —  almost  but  not  quite  —  as  if  her  old  life  had 
been  going  on  without  interruption,  and  that  her  mar- 
riage had  been  but  a  glittering  and  uneasy  dream. 

After  dinner  Kate  took  her  to  the  sitting-room  on 
the  second  floor,  informing  Will  that  he  was  to  stay 
downstairs.  Will  thereupon  began,  in  the  drawing-room 
immediately  underneath  them,  with  unnecessary  vio- 
lence, one  of  his  Wagnerian  expositions.  This  caused  the 
smallish  dog,  who  had  accompanied  them  upstairs,  to 
break  into  vociferous  vocalisms,  terminating  in  a  sharp 
yelp  when  Kate,  removing  her  slipper,  succeeded  in 
catching  him  a  smart  slap  with  it,  and  to  disappear 
immediately  under  the  saddle-bag  sofa. 

"We  can't  hear  anything  here!"  Kate  exclaimed  with 
a  gesture  of  vexation.  "He  is  the  noisiest  man  in  New 
York !   Come  up  to  your  room." 

Claire  went  up  disinclined  to  make  a  confidante  of 
Kate,  but  the  fact  that  she  had  had  no  other  woman  to 
speak  to  resulted  finally  in  a  conversation  which  lasted 


374  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

until  bedtime.  She  was  glad  afterwards  that  she  had 
done  so.  The  stimulation  of  Kate's  family  partisanship 
invigorated  her.  She  did  not  mention  Helena,  but 
Kate's  resentment  against  George  found  further  excite- 
ment in  her  learning  that  he  was  acting  as  Dudley's 
emissary. 

"Trying  to  browbeat  his  own  sister!  That's  just  like 
him!  But,  Claire,  you  ought  to  have  consented.  Dud- 
ley would  be  willing  to  give  you  a  great  deal  of  money. 
Have  you  anything  now?  " 

"Not  much,"  Claire  answered. 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do?  For  the  rest  of  your 
life  you  can't  live  on  nothing. " 

"I  am  learning  hospital  work.  Nurses  are  well  paid." 

"Good  heavens  and  earth!  As  if  you'd  ever  be  con- 
tent with  that!  You're  too  young.  Settle  with  Dudley, 
and  enjoy  yourself." 

"I'm  tired  of  enjoying  myself.  I  want  to  work — I 
hard." 

"And  suppose  you  get  tired  of  working;  you're  mak- 
ing a  mistake,  Claire.   Think  it  over." 

But  Claire  was  too  tired  to  think  anything  over  that 
night,  and  hurried  to  bed  and  forgetfulness  immediately 
on  Kate's  leaving  her. 

For  another  month  Claire  continued  her  course  before 
she  felt  sufficiently  equipped  to  begin  her  work  at  the 
hospital.  During  this  time  she  studied  vigorously,  fol- 
lowing alone  the  ramifications  which  continually  led 
away  from  the  trained  attendant's  course,  and  when  she 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  375 

could  do  so,  attending  clinics.  These  at  first  aroused  in 
her  a  f aintness  which  it  required  all  her  courage  to  over- 
come. The  work  absorbed  her,  and  yet  repelled  her,  but 
in  her  freedom  she  found  an  immense  solace,  troubled 
only  by  the  problem  of  her  bond  with  Dudley.  After 
her  first  rejection  of  his  purpose  she  asked  herself  many 
times  if  she  had  done  right.  She  had,  as  George  said, 
wronged  him  in  marrying  him,  and  yet  she  would  not  give 
him  his  freedom  except  in  her  way.  Their  marriage  was 
wrong,  and  to  connive  at  a  divorce  such  as  he  wanted 
was  wrong,  and  two  wrongs  do  not  make  a  right;  — • 
but  was  that,  after  all,  true?  Should  she  not  be  willing 
to  commit  one  wrong  to  right  another?  But  to  con- 
spire to  cheat  the  law  was  not  only  inherently  immoral, 
it  was  illegal,  too.  The  problem  was  a  difficult  one,  and 
caused  her  many  anxious  hours. 

Although  the  relations  between  Kate  and  Weston 
proved  to  be  far  from  harmonious,  Claire  enjoyed  the 
comfort  and  isolation  of  her  life  there,  except  that  Will's 
manner  toward  her  began  to  arouse  occasional  misgiv- 
ings. His  persistent  egoistic  preoccupation  had  given 
way  to  elephantine  attempts  to  display  a  dashing  man- 
ner when  Claire  was  present.  She  wondered  whether 
Kate  noticed  it.  If  she  stopped  in  the  drawing-room,  or 
library  above,  he  would  be  sure  to  come  in.  Once  or 
twice  when  they  were  alone  together,  he  had  by  some 
pretext,  a  book  he  wished  her  to  look  at,  or  a  musical 
score  he  was  supposed  to  be  working  on,  taken  a  seat  be- 
side her  and  pressed  slightly  against  her.   He  was  con- 


376  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

stantly  getting  too  close  to  her,  and  once  his  hand 
brushed  her  cheek.  He  apologized,  but  she  could  not 
tell  whether  it  was  accident  or  not.  After  this,  unless 
Kate  were  at  hand,  she  kept  rigorously  to  her  room. 
One  night,  a  fortnight  later,  after  she  had  gone  there, 
she  heard  a  stealthy  step  in  the  hall,  a  rustling  at  her 
door,  and  an  envelope  was  pushed  quickly  under  it. 
She  picked  it  up  and  opened  it:  it  was  a  ridiculous  love 
letter,  absurd,  and  almost  incoherent.  It  was  evident 
that  she  must  find  some  pretext  for  leaving;  but  where 
could  she  go?  She  shrank  from  the  thought  of  it.  She 
would  be  alone,  completely  alone.  She  sighed.  Life 
was  becoming  difficult.  At  this  time  she  had  been  in 
the  hospital  for  a  week,  a  week  of  fatigue,  disgust,  and 
horror.  When  she  had  first  gone  there  the  head  nurse, 
who  was  obviously  surprised  at  seeing  her  again,  showed 
her  first  into  a  small  room,  where  she  changed  into 
the  nurse's  uniform  she  had  brought  with  her,  and 
then,  leading  the  way  to  an  upper  floor,  left  her  with 
the  nurse  in  charge,  saying: 

"You  understand,  of  course,  that  you  are  to  begin  at 
the  beginning." 

Claire's  duties  lay  in  all  the  wards  on  that  floor,  both 
for  men  and  women.  These  wards  were  filled  with  the 
riffraff  of  the  streets,  the  dregs  of  life,  or  from  the  name- 
less millions  who  work  and  die.  The  men  were  negroes 
and  whites,  of  all  nationalities  and  trades  —  Russians, 
Germans,  Jews,  Americans,  and  Scandinavians,  sailors, 
longshoremen,   news-vendors,   laborers,   and   outlaws. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  377 

Some  had  been  beaten  and  robbed  while  drunk.  Others 
had  been  injured  by  elevator  accidents,  in  fights,  falling 
down  shafts  and  holds,  the  breaking  of  scaffoldings,  run 
over  by  taxi-cabs.  There  were  fractured  spines,  broken 
bones,  ghastly  cuts,  horrible  abrasions;  the  beds  were 
filled  with  every  type  and  age,  scrawny  boys,  young 
men,  brawny  and  powerful  middle-aged  men,  brutal  and 
hairy  men,  and  the  old,  old  derelicts  who  make  the 
rounds  of  the  hospitals,  and  who,  to  simulate  fever, 
rub  the  clinical  thermometers  with  the  tongue.  Claire 
had  to  count  the  filthy  and  blood-stained  clothing  of 
all  these  wretches  when  they  were  brought  in.  Priests 
came  often  and  administered  the  last  sacrament. 
Each  night,  at  the  end  of  these  first  days,  Claire  thought 
that  she  could  not  go  back,  but  fighting  down  that  sense 
of  approaching  f aintness  which  she  had  felt  at  the  clinics 
and  which  again  assailed  her  often,  she  persevered. 

Diseases,  not  accidents,  filled  the  beds  of  the  women's 
wards,  diseases  of  every  kind,  determined  and  undeter- 
mined, diseases  of  the  heart,  the  kidneys,  pneumonia, 
jaundice,  diabetes,  syphilis,  typhoid.  They  were  ignor- 
ant, vulgar  and  obscene;  more  so  than  the  men;  and  all 
these  bodies  Claire  washed  —  emaciated,  greenish- 
white  bodies,  pale,  obese  bodies,  scarred  and  mutilated 
bodies,  legs  with  broken,  blue  veins,  swollen  feet. 

In  a  corner  of  the  ward  the  blue-black  head  of  the 
little  foreign  woman  lay  always  quite  still.  Claire  was 
told  that  there  was  no  hope  for  her,  but  some  special 
appeal  drew  her  constantly  to  her  bedside.   She  was  too 


378  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

ill  to  be  bathed,  but  Claire  would  sit  gently  rubbing 
her  back,  where  the  vertebrae  of  her  spine  stood  out 
in  sharp  ridges.  At  first  this  seemed  to  ease  her  dis- 
comfort, but  soon  Claire  was  forced  to  stop,  because  she 
moaned  continually  as  if  it  hurt  her.  She  seemed  like 
some  little,  pathetic  animal,  accepting,  without  under- 
standing or  protest,  the  dictates  of  a  grievous  destiny. 
In  this  small  hospital  many  duties  fell  to  Claire's  lot 
which  in  a  larger  one  she  would  have  escaped.  The  rou- 
tine began  at  nine  o'clock,  when  beds  must  be  made 
according  to  the  formulae  learned  in  the  school.  This, 
which  was  supposed  to  take  an  hour,  usually  took  two; 
therefore  it  was  never  finished  when  at  ten  the  interne, 
a  tall,  conceited-looking  young  Jew  with  a  small  black 
mustache  and  full  red  lips,  began  to  make  his  rounds. 
Claire  was  obliged  to  follow  him  and  watch  the  inspec- 
tion of  wounds.  The  remainder  of  the  morning  was 
spent,  besides  the  giving  of  baths,  in  taking  respiration, 
pulse,  and  temperature.  Often  special  breakfasts  must 
be  prepared,  eggs,  toast,  and  coffee,  glasses  of  milk 
passed,  charts  made  out,  test-tubes  prepared.  The  diet 
charts  for  each  patient  must  be  studied :  restricted  diets, 
liquid  diets,  salt-free  diets.  Bread  must  be  cut  and 
spread,  and  dinner,  which  was  carried  in  by  orderlies, 
must  be  distributed:  soup  poured  out,  tea  made,  ice 
cracked  and  put  in  bags,  and  bathtubs  washed  with 
disinfectants.  In  addition,  mouth-washes  in  sputum 
jars  must  be  distributed,  tables,  window-sills,  and  chairs 
dusted,  and  all  instruments  boiled  constantly  by  elec- 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  379 

tricity,  in  nickel  boxes.  In  the  afternoon  the  visiting 
surgeon  came.  This  happened  usually  when  backs  were 
being  rubbed  with  alcohol  to  prevent  bed  sores,  crumbs 
brushed  out,  pillows  turned,  and  sheets  tightened.  With 
him  went  the  head  nurse,  the  interne  who  read  the 
charts,  and  another  nurse  who  took  notes.  He  visited 
only  the  most  serious  cases,  and  no  talking  or  whisper- 
ing was  permitted  at  this  time.  And  all  this,  on  the 
part  of  all  concerned,  with  a  mechanical  and  perfunc- 
tory routine  almost  inhibiting  sympathy  or  interest  on 
the  one  side,  or  appreciation  on  the  other.  Twice  a 
week,  to  the  disgust  of  the  frowsy  nurses,  two  thin, 
pale  women  dressed  in  black  would  appear  in  the  ward, 
followed  by  a  negro  carrying  a  folding  harmonium.  He 
would  proceed  to  set  this  up,  when  one  of  the  women 
would  seat  herself  before  it,  and  to  its  accompaniment 
they  would  begin  to  sing  hymns,  in  which  the  patients 
joined.  After  half  an  hour  of  this  they  would  disappear 
into  another  part  t)f  the  building,  followed  by  the 
grimaces,  burlesque  gestures,  and  sarcastic  comments 
of  the  nurses. 

Sometimes  a  patient  well  enough  to  leave,  and  almost 
unrecognizable  in  street  clothing,  would  appear  for  a 
moment  to  say  good-bye,  and  disappear;  but  more  often 
not.  Often,  when  Claire  reached  the  hospital  in  the 
morning,  a  bed  or  two  would  be  empty.  These  patients 
Claire  knew  that  she  would  not  see  again,  but  the  de- 
partures caused  by  death  aroused  as  little  general  in- 
erest  as  those  due  to  recovery.   Their  places  were  filled, 


380  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

and  things  went  on  as  before.  The  telephone  would  ring, 
and  a  new  arrival  would  be  announced.  Claire  would  be 
told  to  prepare  a  bed.  The  age,  respiration,  and  tem- 
perature would  be  taken  at  once.  If  able  to  walk,  Claire 
led  the  new  arrivals  to  the  bathroom,  and  washed  them 
there.  If  not,  she  washed  them  in  bed.  Their  clothes 
were  taken  from  them,  tied  in  squares  of  linen,  and  put 
away.  They  looked  almost  always  undernourished, 
anaemic,  or  yellow,  with  strong  body  odors,  and  dirty 
and  callous  feet.  Their  heads,  too,  almost  always  in- 
fected with  lice,  must  be  washed.  And  she  began  to 
share  Felix's  feeling  of  rebellion  at  existing  conditions. 
She  was  appalled  by  the  brutishness,  filth,  and  stupidity 
of  all  these  people.  The  weight  which  pressed  them 
down  to  the  level  of  the  animal  was  undoubtedly  the 
weight  of  ignorance,  and  ignorance  was  the  offspring 
of  poverty. 

Each  morning  a  news-vendor  would  make  the  rounds, 
selling  his  papers.  He  was  waited  for  eagerly,  and  after 
his  departure  continuous  rustling  would  fill  the  wards. 
Salvation  Army  women  called  occasionally  with  gifts 
of  fruit  and  cocoa,  and  on  visitors'  day,  twice  a  week, 
a  husband  or  brother  would  appear,  awkward  and  ill 
at  ease.  Some  of  the  patients  were  allowed  to  propel 
themselves  in  wheeled  chairs  from  one  place  to  another. 

The  little  foreign  woman  got  no  better.  She  was  very 
frail,  very  .emaciated.  There  was  something  inexpres- 
sibly touching  to  Claire  in  her  little  wide,  sunken  face 
with  its  expression  as  of  dim  wonder  at  the  dull  riddle  of 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  381 

her  own  existence.  Often  she  talked  half  deliriously  in 
some  strange  patois  which  no  one  could  understand. 

Other  types  interested,  even  fascinated  her,  but  with- 
out arousing  the  sympathy  she  felt  for  this  little  derelict 
slowly  but  surely  floating  out  into  the  unknown.  One, 
a  very  beautiful  Norwegian  with  milky  skin  and  red- 
gold  hair.  She  had  had  pneumonia,  but  had  recovered. 
She  seemed  perfectly  able  to  leave,  and  yet  her  temper- 
ature was  extremely  variable,  and  a  cough  still  persisted. 
The  cough  seemed  well  under  control,  and  it  was  sus- 
pected that  she,  too,  by  some  means  increased  the  record 
of  the  clinical  thermometer,  to  indicate  fever.  During 
the  first  week  an  old,  melancholy  colored  woman,  dying 
of  cancer,  called  continually,  "Nurse,  nurse,"  in  a  thin 
voice  plaintive  and  exhausted.  "Nurse,  nurse,"  over 
and  over.  At  night  Claire  still  heard  it  over  and  over. 
One  morning  her  bed  was  empty. 

An  enormous  woman,  muscular  and  vicious-looking, 
whose  feet  extended  beyond  the  end  of  the  bed,  lay  still, 
day  after  day,  with  dead  gray  eyes,  and  stupid,  heavy, 
masklike  face.  Her  condition  usually  was  subnormal, 
but  occasionally  she  had  fever.  She  was  very  ill,  almost 
in  coma,  and  looked  as  if  intelligence  had  already  de- 
parted. One  morning  Claire  was  ordered  to  take  her  to 
the  ground  floor  to  be  X-rayed.  Her  chest  was  to  be 
photographed.  A  wheeled  stretcher  was  brought  in,, 
and  with  the  help  of  others  she  managed  to  get  her  on  it. 
The  patient  muttered  something,  over  and  over,  some- 
thing which  sounded  like  "I  can't  do  it  —  I  can't  do  it." 


382  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

Claire  covered  her  with  a  blanket,  wheeled  her  to  the 
lift,  and  went  down  with  her.  The  X-ray  room  was  at 
the  end  of  a  passage,  up  an  incline.  Claire,  with  an 
effort,  got  her  up  it.  The  wheels  of  the  stretcher  swayed. 
The  operator  indicated  the  position  and,  disappearing, 
looked  through  an  aperture.  "Now,  steady  ";  a  buzzing 
and  flashing  ensued,  a  green  and  yellow  light,  and  a  sul- 
phurous smell.  The  woman  lay  motionless,  with  her 
dead  gray  eyes.  Claire  wheeled  her  to  the  lift,  and  back 
once  more  to  the  ward.  The  next  morning  her  bed,  too, 
was  empty. 

So  it  went,  amid  an  odor  of  food,  disinfectants, 
anaesthetics,  and  the  exhalations  of  diseased  bodies. 
Claire  could  not  understand  how  those  around  her  could 
become  accustomed  to  this  daily  sight  of  death,  suffer- 
ing, wounds,  blood,  and  dirt.  It  seemed  to  arouse  no 
emotions  either  in  the  physicians  or  the  nurses,  and 
while  this  insensibility  shocked  her,  she  saw  that  without 
it  they  could  not  have  gone  on  with  the  work  they  had 
to  do.  She  herself  had  begun  to  grow  in  a  slight  degree 
accustomed  to  it,  but  she  saw  that  her  present  course 
could  lead  her  nowhere.  The  thought  of  choosing  the 
profession  of  nursing  was  now  so  distasteful  to  her  that 
she  could  not  understand  how  she  had  ever  seriously 
thought  of  it;  but  she  must  not,  on  that  account,  for  the 
present  abandon  it.  She  meant  to  see  it  through;  she 
would  persevere,  trusting  and  hoping  that  fate  would 
show  her  a  way  out. 

Often  at  night,  her  nerves  on  edge,  exhausted  by  the 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  383 

performance  of  disgusting  and  menial  duties,  feeling 
unable  to  listen  to  the  jarring  exchanges  of  Kate  and 
Weston,  or  the  latter's  attempts  at  elegant  playful- 
ness, she  would  dine  at  some  restaurant,  and  go  directly 
to  her  room,  where  she  would  attempt,  without  success, 
to  set  the  stage  of  her  imagination  with  scenes  of  beauty 
and  fascination,  to  drive  out  the  stark  realities  of  her 
daily  life.  She  strove  to  make  real  once  more  that  night, 
when  in  the  dusk  of  the  Square  she  lay  for  a  moment  in 
Felix's  arms.  She  tried  to  lose  herself  in  dreams,  where, 
in  an  atmosphere  of  delicate  perfumes,  the  frou-frou  of 
elegant  dresses,  sunk  in  soft  cushions,  walking  in  gar- 
dens bright  with  parterres  of  flowers,  she  lived  always 
with  Felix  an  existence  of  perfect  and  untroubled  ease: 
but  she  was  unable  to  banish  the  present.  Her  imagina- 
tive impulses  were  not  strong  enough  to  erase  its  impres- 
sions, and  her  dreams  would  dissolve,  to  give  place  to 
the  pallid  wards  of  the  hospital.  The  odor  of  disinfect- 
ants would  assail  her  nostrils,  and  she  would  seek  her 
bed  only  to  hear,  in  her  troubled  sleep,  the  plaintive, 
thin,  exhausted  cry,  "Nurse,  nurse,"  of  the  dying 
woman,  see  before  her  two  dead,  gray,  unwinking, 
staring  eyes  in  a  brutal,  stupid,  immobile  face,  or  the 
pallid  features  of  the  little  Italian  with  their  expression 
of  dull  resignation,  of  faint  and  futile  wonder. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

One  morning  the  bed  of  the  little  Italian  was  hidden  by 
two  screens.  The  interne  came  twice  and  went  away, 
and  the  nurses  kept  going  in  and  out.  Claire  knew  that 
this  meant  that  she  was  dying.  Claire's  own  duties  were 
especially  arduous  that  day,  but  in  the  afternoon,  as  the 
hour  for  leaving  approached,  the  nurse  in  charge,  speak- 
ing in  a  whisper,  said,  "Your  little  friend  is  dead;  would 
you  like  to  see  her?" 

A  strange  feeling  of  apprehension,  of  fear,  seized 
Claire,  but  controlling  it,  she  followed  the  nurse.  Be- 
hind the  screen  she  was  lying  in  her  nightgown.  The 
bedclothes  were  turned  down,  and  Claire  could  see  the 
outlines  of  her  frail  and  wasted  body.  The  experience 
was  unpleasant,  but  Claire  had  no  feeling  of  repulsion. 
What  struck  her  was  the  change  of,  or  rather,  lack  of 
expression.  Before,  she  had  had  a  strained  look,  as  if 
in  constant  pain.  This  was  gone.  Gone,  too,  was  the 
human,  individual  look.  Her  flesh  had  collapsed,  the 
teeth  showed,  the  eyes  were  closed,  and  the  skin  very 
waxen.  Claire  felt  that  the  little  person  she  had  known 
was  not  there. 

The  nurse,  who  had  disappeared,  returned  with  a 
rubber  sheet,  and  asked  Claire  to  help  her  move  the 
body  to  the  edge  of  the  bed,  so  that  the  sheet  might  be 
placed  under  it.   Claire  controlled  a  shudder,  and  bent 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  385 

forward  with  a  supreme  effort.  The  body  felt  warm  and 
soft,  very  soft  and  non-resistant.  When  they  lifted  it 
slightly  its  strange,  inert  limpness  seemed  to  signify  that 
life,  not  death,  had  killed  her,  that  life  had  drained  her 
body  to  the  dregs.  The  nurse  slipped  the  nightdress 
down  preliminary  to  the  customary  sponging,  when 
Claire  saw  to  her  horror  that  the  back  and  shoulders  of 
the  body  were  covered  with  scars,  and  at  this  evidence  of 
the  brutality  which  this  frail  creature  must  have  suf- 
fered a  sense  of  exhaustion  prevaded  her,  numbing 
and  deadening  all  her  sensibilities.  She  stood,  support- 
ing herself  by  the  head  of  the  bed,  leaning  against  the 
wall  while  the  nurse  fastened  the  body  in  another  sheet, 
and  pinned  to  it  the  name  and  date  of  death.  The 
stretcher  was  brought  in.  Claire  with  an  effort  roused 
herself,  and  followed  it  as  it  was  rolled  out  again 
bearing  its  white  burden. 

She  went  down  in  the  elevator  and  out  into  the  street, 
thinking  of  that  pale  and  wasted  body.  In  the  face  of 
the  terrific  and  unescapable  reality  of  death,  the  streets, 
the  people,  seemed  to  assume  the  vague  and  uncertain 
attributes  of  objects  seen  in  a  dream. 

She  walked  slowly  home.  That  morning  she  had  had 
her  first  letter  from  Jamie  in  Paris.  Mallette  had  run 
over  with  him,  and  he  was  now  settled.  He  had  stopped 
longer  in  London  than  he  had  expected.  In  fact  nearly 
a  month.  She  had  had  a  short  note  from  him  there  say- 
ing that  he  would  write  again  as  soon  as  he  had  a  per- 
manent address  to  give  her.    They  had  forgotten  to 


386  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

arrange  this  before  he  had  sailed,  and  the  delay  in  hear- 
ing from  him  after  his  first  note  had  caused  Claire  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  anxiety.  She  reached  the  house  and 
went  into  the  drawing-room.  She  was  too  exhausted  to 
immediately  climb  the  stairs  to  her  room,  and  she  sank 
inertly  into  a  chair.  A  slight  sound  aroused  her,  and 
as  she  looked  up  she  saw  Weston  had  come  close  up 
to  her.  He  looked  about  quickly  and  furtively.  His 
face  worked  spasmodically  under  the  influence  of  an 
extreme  agitation.  Claire  sprang  up  instinctively,  and 
as  she  did  so  he  seized  her  hands  and  pushed  her  back 
into  the  corner,  holding  her  there  by  the  pressure  of  his 
own  body. 

"Why  do  you  treat  me  so  —  why  —  why  —  do  you 
always  keep  away  from  me?  Don't  you  know  Hove 
you?   Don't  you  know  I  love  you  more  —  more  — " 

"Oh  —  don't!"  cried  Claire,  almost  with  a  shriek. 
She  wrenched  her  hands  free,  and  with  blazing  eyes 
pushed  him  away.  As  she  did  so  she  saw  Kate  standing 
in  the  doorway.  Weston  saw  her  too.  For  a  moment  all 
stood  silent,  motionless  in  the  somber  light  of  the  dark- 
ening room. 

"Up  to  your  tricks  again,  are  you? "  Kate  said  at  last. 
"Go  up  to  your  room." 

"Aunt  Kate!"  Claire  cried. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  you.   Go  up,  do  you  hear?" 

Will  went  past  her,  cringing,  without  a  word.  For 
a  moment  Kate  and  Claire  stood  silent  again. 

"I   did  n't  mean  you,"   Kate   went  on  presently. 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  387 

"This  is  n't  the  first  time  I've  caught  him.  Oh,  men!" 
She  turned  and  closed  the  door.  The  light  was  waning 
rapidly-  "Do  you  know  why  I  married  him?  Because 
I  was  getting  old,  and  I  wanted  to  know  what  —  what 
marriage  was  like.  That 's  why,  and  he  was  the  only  one. 
I  knew  what  you  all  thought  about  him,  and  what  you 
thought,  was  true.  Perhaps  you  wonder  why  I  don't 
turn  him  out.  I  could.  I  could  divorce  him  to-morrow; 
but  suppose  I  did?   I  should  be  alone." 

"I  never  thought  you  would  mind  that,  Aunt  Kate." 
"I  know  it.  Nobody  thought  so;  but  wait  until  you 
are  as  old  as  I  am.  You're  young  now,  and  it  does  n't 
matter,  but  wait  until  you  are  old  enough  to  realize  what 
it  means  to  look  forward  with  the  thought  that  during 
your  whole  life  you  will  be  condemned  to  a  kind  of  soli- 
tary confinement.  That's  why  I  don't  divorce  him"  — 
Kate  stopped  —  "Of  course  you  can't  stay  here  now, 
Claire." 

"Good  Heavens!  Do  you  suppose  I  want  to?" 
Claire  cried.  "I  would  go  to-night  if  I  knew  where  to 
go."  She  turned,  went  out  of  the  house,  and  walked 
toward  Sixth  Avenue.  A  car  stopped  at  the  corner,  and 
in  her  preoccupation  she  boarded  it  and  sank  into  a  cor- 
ner seat,  with  no  definite  objective.  The  cumulative 
strain  of  the  work  at  the  hospital,  that  first  introduc- 
tion to  death,  and  Weston's  attack,  had  produced  in  her 
a  stored-up  fund  of  dread,  irritation,  and  mental  strain, 
which  threatened  momentarily  to  fuse  and  explode, 
with  she  knew  not  what  consequences.  She  realized  that 


388  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

she  must  control  herself  firmly,  and  she  sat  in  the  corner 
of  the  car  with  clasped  hands,  fighting  to  do  so.  She  was 
not  conscious  of  the  passage  of  time  until  the  conductor, 
with  the  cry,  "All  out!"  announced  that  the  car  would 
go  no  farther.  They  were  at  Fifty-Ninth  Street,  the 
southern  boundary  of  the  Park.  Claire  got  out.  It  was 
eight  o'clock.  She  suddenly  realized  that  she  was  hun- 
gry, and  began  walking  down  Sixth  Avenue.  Finding 
a  restaurant  of  the  "table  d'hote"  variety,  where  she 
and  Jamie  had  dined  occasionally  in  former  days,  she 
went  in.  The  soup,  one  of  those  peasant  concoctions, 
rich  in  nourishment,  revived  her,  and  she  began  to 
consider  the  future,  but  at  the  realization  of  what 
lay  before  her,  the  problem  of  finding  out  how  sim- 
ply to  live  by  herself,  panic  seized  her.  To  go  to  a 
hotel  with  her  limited  means  was  absurd  and  yet  the 
prospect  of  a  boarding-house  filled  her  with  vague 
terrors.  If  Jamie  were  only  with  her.  Perhaps  she  had 
better  cable  him  to  come  back.  And  if  he  came  back? 
She  had  given  him  two  thousand  dollars.  He  might 
return  with  a  thousand,  and  she  had  less  than  a  thous- 
and herself.  After  that  was  spent,  what?  In  a  year, 
or  less,  she  might  be  earning  money  as  a  nurse.  She 
shuddered  at  the  thought.  How  strong  people  like 
Dudley  must  be,  to  rise  impervious  to  all  the  friction, 
the  opposition,  the  competition,  the  dead  weight  of  the 
bare  happenings  of  existence.  There  seemed  something 
incomprehensible,  superhuman,  about  such  achieve- 
ments.  She  finished  her  dinner,  got  up,  and  took  a 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  389 

south-bound  car.  Her  mind  was  occupied  with  the 
realization  of  the  almost  insuperable  difficulties  of  the 
position  she  had  chosen  for  herself,  and  continually, 
like  a  symbol  of  all  the  weak  and  helpless  entities 
throughout  the  world,  the  sport  of  circumstance,  the 
prey  of  the  predatory,  the  blind  victims  of  fate,  the 
vision  of  an  emaciated  and  scarred  body,  very  frail 
and  waxen,  rose  continually  in  her  thoughts,  and  as  that 
ignorant  and  frail  creature  had  been  helpless,  it  seemed 
to  Claire  that  she,  too,  was  helpless. 

The  lights  of  Broadway  and  the  tall  tower  of  a  great 
newspaper  office  attracted  her  attention,  and  she  got 
out  and  turned  toward  them  through  one  of  the  cross- 
streets,  only  to  be  caught  at  once  in  an  immense  seething 
multitude,  passing  interminably  in  restless,  intricate 
currents,  as  if  impelled  by  motives  as  obscure,  as  appar- 
ently aimless,  as  those  which  animate  a  swarm  of 
insects.  The  insistent  sound  of  the  news-vendors  crying 
their  extra  editions  seemed  to  set  a  note  rising  above 
this  immense  movement  and  conglomeration  of  sound, 
which  gave  it  a  portentous  significance  of  warning,  as  if 
the  multitude  hearing  it  were  hurrying,  confusedly, 
without  definite  purpose,  under  a  stress  of  terror  before 
the  approach  of  vast  and  terrifying  events.  Before  the 
great  newspaper  office  a  mass  of  people  stood  looking  up 
at  the  bulletins.  She  went  nearer  to  them  and  began 
to  read,  the  familiar  announcements  of  strikes,  famines, 
revolutions,  and  battles  which  still  continued.  A  dread, 
formless  and  yet  mighty,  suddenly  oppressed  her.    A 


390  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

feeling  of  apprehension,  a  sense  of  foreboding,  which 
until  lately  the  objective  mentality  of  her  vigorous 
youthfulness  had  rarely  known,  suddenly  chilled  her. 
Ah,  yes,  she  was  small,  weak,  and  alone.  She  had  only 
lately  begun  to  realize  the  significance  of  the  tremendous 
forces  at  play  everywhere  around  her. 

She  had  had  enough  of  her  present  life.  She  had  had, 
ten  days  before,  a  slight  touch  of  inflammation  from  one 
of  the  pneumonia  patients,  and  had  been  obliged  to  stay 
at  home  for  half  a  week.  This,  too,  had  pulled  her  down. 
She  felt  that  she  could  not  possibly  endure  even  one 
more  day  at  the  hospital.  She  would  cable  Jamie  to 
return  at  once,  and  together  they  would  find  some  way. 
But  what?  In  addition  she  would  be  admitting  defeat. 
She  would  be  a  quitter.  But  if  she  could  join  Jamie  in 
France,  and  go  on  with  her  work  there,  it  would  not  be 
so  hard.  With  Jamie  she  would  have  the  courage  her 
present  life  bereft  her  of.  That  was  what  she  would  do. 
But  she  needed  money. 

Whether  she  brought  Jamie  back  or  joined  him  in 
France,  she  could  not  see  how  they  could  manage 
without  money. 

She  must  make  up  her  mind.  She  thought  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then,  her  lips  tightening,  she  went  into  the 
lobby  of  a  hotel  which  she  was  passing  and  telephoned 
George's  apartment.    In  a  moment  George  answered. 

"It  is  Claire,"  she  announced;  "are  you  alone?" 

George  replied  that  he  was. 

"Then  I  shall  come  over;  I  want  to  see  you." 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  391 

On  her  way  to  George's  apartment  she  half  resolved 
to  ask  him  to  lend  her  money,  but  immediately  saw  that 
it  would  be  useless.  Not  only  was  he  not  inclined  to  lend 
money  to  anybody,  but  he  would  see  immediately  that 
her  need  of  it  could  be  used  as  a  means  to  secure  for 
Dudley  what  he  wanted.  Therefore,  on  her  arrival  she 
went  directly  to  the  point. 

"  I  have  decided  to  do  what  Dudley  wants  me  to  do." 

George's  expression  indicated  approval. 

"It's  the  only  thing  to  do,  Claire.  All  right;  I'll  have 
the  lawyers  get  busy  right  away." 

"I  shall  want  ten  thousand  dollars,  George." 

George  stared  at  her  as  if  he  could  not  believe 
her. 

"Ten  thousand  dollars!  Ten  thousand  fiddlesticks! 
You  shall  get  more  than  that!" 

"I  don't  want  any  more,  George." 

"Look  here,  Claire,"  George  cried  in  sincere  exasper- 
ation, "if  you  don't  let  me  manage  this  as  I  like,  I'll 
have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  intend  to  get  a  good 
settlement  for  you  from  Dudley.  If  you  don't  want  the 
money  afterward,  give  it  away;  but  I  intend  to  do  my 
best.  Wait  a  minute;  Dudley's  stopping  at  the  Plaza. 
I'll  see  if  he 'sin." 

Dudley  was,  and  George  seized  his  hat.  "I'll  be 
back  in  half  an  hour.  Wait  for  me." 

In  half  an  hour  George  returned.  He  threw  his  hat  on 
a  chair,  and  with  the  air  of  one  who  expected  a  flood  of 
thanks,  he  said  abruptly: 


392  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"Two  hundred  thousand." 

"I  won't  take  it,  George." 

"Claire,  you're  impossible;  why  on  earth  not?" 

"Because  the  more  I  take  from  him,  the  more  despic- 
able I  shall  seem  to  myself." 

"Two  hundred  thousand  is  nothing  to  Dudley.  Look 
here,  suppose  you  took  ten  thousand.  What  would  you 
do  when  it  was  gone?" 

"By  that  time  I  shall  be  earning  money." 

"You  really  talk  like  a  child.  In  a  year  or  so  you'd 
be  asking  for  help  again." 

"I  can't  take  it,"  Claire  said. 

George  got  up. 

"Very  well;  I  wash  my  hands  of  you.  Go  and  talk  to 
Dudley  yourself." 

"You  know  I  can't  do  that." 

"Then  go  to  Elder  and  let  him  begin  negotiations. 
Do  you  know  what  Dudley  will  do?  He'll  refer  him  to 
me.  I've  made  Dudley  promise  that  if  there's  any 
settlement  at  all  to  provide  for  you  properly." 

Claire,  too,  stood  up,  and  moved  toward  the  door. 
"Very  well,"  she  said,  but  when  her  hand  touched  the 
knob,  she  turned.  She  could  not  go  away  to  face  the  old 
uncertainty. 

"I  will  do  it,"  she  said. 

"Now  you're  talking  sense." 

"How  long  will  it  take?" 

"A  few  days;  I'll  make  arrangements  at  once." 

"And  when  can  I  —  can  I  — " 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  393 

"Get  the  money?  The  moment  you've  signed  the 
papers." 

Claire  lowered  her  head  to  hide  the  mounting  of  a 
flush  of  shame. 

"And  —  and  —  may  I  go  away  afterward?" 

"Anywhere  you  like.  The  lawyers  will  do  the  rest. 
You  need  n't  bother  about  anything.  Where  shall  I  be 
able  to  get  hold  of  you?" 

There  was  that  in  Claire's  expression  which  made 
George  uncomfortable.  Their  relations  had  always  been 
quite  impersonal,  without  a  touch  of  that  reciprocal 
tenderness  which  existed  between  herself  and  Jamie,  but 
now  he  came  up  to  her,  and  rather  awkwardly  took  her 
hand. 

"Look  here,"  he  said.  "You've  got  the  wrong  idea  of 
things.  You  and  Dudley  made  a  mistake  in  marrying. 
You  both  know  it,  and  you  would  both  be  happier  if 
you  were  free.  But  how  does  the  law  stand?  Notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  you  both  want  it,  and  it  would  be 
better  for  you  to  have  it,  the  law  won't  give  it  to  you, 
and  will  block  any  effort  you  may  make  to  get  it.  Well, 
it's  a  stupid  law,  Claire,  and  no  unprejudiced  person 
would  blame  you  for  refusing  to  be  bound  by  the  preju- 
dices of  the  people  who  made  it,  I  don't  know  how  many 
generations  ago." 

But  that  was  a  matter  beyond  Claire's  power  or  incli- 
nation to  discuss. 

"Good-night,  George.  It  seems  hard  to  explain." 

In  the  morning  she  packed  her  trunks,  bade  Kate 


394  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

good-bye,  and  after  registering  at  a  neighboring  hotel, 
telephoned  to  George.  All  arrangements  would  be  com- 
plete, and  the  evidence  secured  immediately.  In  four 
days  the  papers  would  be  ready  for  her  signature. 
Claire,  on  hearing  this,  went  first  to  her  bank,  and  then 
once  more  to  Cook's.  She  secured  passage  on  a  boat 
sailing  for  France  in  ten  days,  and  cabled  Jamie  to 
meet  her  at  Havre  on  her  arrival  there.  She  went  out. 
The  canyon  of  the  Avenue  stretched  before  her,  sunk 
in  shadow.  High  up,  the  flags  floated  in  the  radiance 
of  the  western  sun.  Higher  still,  soft,  serried  ranks  of 
small  and  pinkish  clouds.  Higher  still,  calm,  pale 
depths  of  sky.  The  beauty  of  the  afternoon  moved  her, 
but  failed  to  buoy  her  up.  She  was  sunk  in  the  depths 
of  a  slough  of  weariness,  shame,  and  humiliation.  She 
essayed  to  walk,  but  an  unaccountable  lassitude 
weighted  her  limbs.  She  hailed  a  taxi-cab,  returned  to 
her  hotel,  and  could  hardly  summon  strength  to  get  to 
her  room.  It  occurred  to  her  that  the  slight  inflamma- 
tion which  she  had  contracted  at  the  hospital  was  re- 
turning again,  and  alarmed  at  the  thought  that  she 
might  be  on  the  verge  of  illness,  she  telephoned  the 
doctor.  At  all  hazards  she  must  sail  on  the  steamer  to 
France,  and  seeking  the  couch  which  stood  at  the  foot 
of  her  bed,  she  waited.  She  had  been  lucky  enough  to 
find  him  at  home,  and  he  was  coming  at  once. 

Some  one  knocked,  and  in  response  to  her  summons 
he  came  in,  accompanied  by  a  slight,  pleasant  odor  of 
tweeds  and  tobacco.   He  had  not  changed.   His  dress 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  395 

was  the  same,  very  baggy  and  comfortable,  his  beard 
and  mustache  still  crisply  gray  and  curling,  and  the 
clasp  of  his  large,  warm  hand  as  reassuring  as  ever.  He 
looked  at  her  shyly.  The  half-paternal  feeling  he  had 
had  for  her  in  the  past  was  gone.  She  was  no  longer  a 
little  girl.  No  longer  a  young  lady.  She  was  a  woman. 
He  had  grown  a  little  afraid  of  her.  Bending  over,  and 
breathing  heavily,  he  put  his  ear  to  her  back,  then  to 
her  chest,  thumped  her  with  his  large  fingers,  drew  out 
his  stethoscope,  used  it,  felt  her  pulse,  placed  a  ther- 
mometer between  her  lips,  and  then  looking  at  her 
shyly  once  more,  he  said : 

"You  must  go  to  bed.  What  have  you  been  doing? 
You  look  tired  out,  and  you  have  a  temperature." 

"I  was  afraid  so;  I  have  been  nursing  in  a  hospital." 

"You!"  cried  the  doctor.  "I  knew  something  had 
happened,  but  —  well,  I'll  telephone  for  a  nurse." 

"I  must  sail  for  France  in  ten  days." 

"For  France!"  cried  the  doctor  again. 

"Yes;  Jamie's  there,  and  I  am  going  over  to  help  if 
I  can." 

In  so  far  as  his  mellow  temperament  would  allow, 
the  doctor  was  piqued. 

"And  I  did  n't  know  anything  about  it.  Well,  that's 
the  way.  You  bring  people  into  the  world,  watch  them 
grow  up,  and  see  them  slip  away  and  forget  about  you. 
I'm  afraid  I'm  getting  old.  When  I  was  younger  I 
did  n't  mind." 

"You  should  have  married,  doctor." 


396  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

"And  you  say  that?" 

"The  right  one,  of  course." 

"Ah,  yes  —  perhaps.  Well — !"  He  got  up,  and 
overcoming  with  an  effort  his  shyness,  he  suddenly 
patted  her  head  —  "But  don't  talk;  you're  tired." 

"One  thing  more.  I  want  to  find  out  just  the  right 
man  at  the  Red  Cross  in  Paris  to  give  me  real  work  to 
do." 

"I  know  him,"  the  doctor  answered.  "I'll  give  you 
a  letter  to  him." 

"And,  doctor,  I  can  go  in  ten  days?" 

"Perhaps,  if  you  will  do  exactly  what  I  tell  you  to." 
He  went  to  the  telephone,  found,  after  one  or  two  un- 
successful efforts,  a  certain  nurse,  and  turned  to  Claire. 

"I  am  going  out  to  get  a  prescription  filled.  While  I 
am  away  I  want  you  to  go  to  bed.  I  shall  be  back  in 
fifteen — no,  twenty  minutes;  that  will  give  you  time 
enough." 

He  went  away.  Claire  tried  to  undress  hurriedly,  but 
found  that  she  could  not.  She  seemed  each  moment  to  be 
growing  weaker,  but  with  a  determined  effort  she  man- 
aged to  get  into  bed  before  he  returned.  She  knew  from 
his  quietness,  the  absence  of  his  usual  hearty  manner, 
that  her  condition  was  giving  him  some  concern,  but 
for  the  moment  she  was  oblivious  to  all  except  that  the 
bed  she  had  finally  sunk  into  was  restful  beyond  belief, 
and  that  she  had  the  doctor's  sturdy  dependability  to 
rely  on. 

He  returned  presently,  gave  her  a  spoonful  of  the 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  397 

contents  of  a  bottle  he  was  carrying,  closed  the  blinds 
and  opened  the  windows  to  his  satisfaction.  A  knock 
sounded,  and  the  nurse  came  in,  already  dressed  for  serv- 
ice, in  her  fresh  cotton  uniform  and  white  cap. 

"This  young  lady,"  said  the  doctor,  "is  anxious  to 
sail  for  France  in  ten  days.  If  she  obeys  orders  I  think 
she  may  be  able  to,  but  no  newspapers,  no  books,  no 
worry,  and  no  exertion." 

He  turned  to  Claire  —  "Lie  still  and  rest.  You've  got 
a  good  nurse,  who  will  do  everything.  Don't  even  think." 

But  this  order  Claire  could  not  obey.  The  one 
thought  which  she  could  not  drive  away  was  that,  in 
assenting  to  Dudley's  wishes,  she  had  lost  Felix.  Her 
participation  in  a  sordid  intrigue  to  free  herself  from 
Dudley  made  her  love  for  Felix  an  impossible  thing. 
Over  and  over  she  tried  by  some  means  to  justify  herself, 
by  some  swerve  of  argument  to  convince  herself  that  her 
criticism  of  herself  was  due  to  hypersensitiveness,  but 
without  success.  Over  and  over  she  caught  up,  pursued, 
and  let  go  various  threads  of  thought,  hoping  to  find  one 
which  would  lead  her  out  of  the  somber  depths  in  which 
she  groped,  until  they  began  to  move,  to  spin  of  them- 
selves, intricate,  luminous  patterns  against  a  back- 
ground of  darkness,  contracting  and  opening  out  faster 
and  faster,  bursting  into  rocket-like,  starry  explosions, 
to  form  again  into  intricate,  moving,  luminous  lines, 
until  at  last,  growing  dimly  red  and  pale,  to  fade  into 
the  obscure  depths  of  unconsciousness  or  the  troubled 
sleep  of  fever. 


398  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

One  morning  she  awoke  to  a  sense  of  mental  ease,  but 
of  great  weakness.  The  fever  had  left  her.  When  the 
doctor  came  she  asked,  "How  much  time  have  I  before 
my  boat  sails?" 

"Four  days,"  he  answered,  sitting  down  beside  her. 

"Shall  I  be  able  to  go?" 

The  doctor,  who  had  taken  his  thermometer  from  its 
case,  thrust  it  between  her  lips  and  opened  his  watch. 
Presently  he  returned  the  watch  to  his  pocket,  and, 
taking  the  thermometer  to  the  light,  examined  it 
closely. 

"Your  fever  is  gone.  I  think  that  we  can  manage  it, 
but  you  must  be  very  careful." 

"Has  my  brother  George  been  here?" 

"Yes;  but  I  would  n't  let  him  see  you." 

"It's  very  important." 

"I  know;  in  fact  I  know  all  about  it."  The  doctor  said 
this  with  evident  satisfaction.  "I  will  send  for  him  as 
soon  as  I  can;  perhaps  day  after  to-morrow." 

It  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  day  before  Claire's  boat 
was  to  sail  that  George  was  permitted  to  see  her.  He 
came  with  a  notary.  The  doctor,  too,  was  there.  Claire 
was  sitting  up  for  the  first  time,  and  they  brought  a 
small  table,  and  placed  the  papers  before  her.  Although 
she  had  been  impatient  to  get  it  over,  now  that  the  mo- 
ment had  come  she  felt  that  she  could  not  do  it.  She 
felt  that  she  was  bartering  her  love  for  a  little  money; 
that  she  was  signing  her  own  death-warrant.  However, 
she  signed,  after  the  doctor  had  insisted  on  reading  the 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  399 

papers  carefully,  and  taking  in  his  keeping  the  certified 
check  George  had  brought  with  him. 

When  George  had  gone  she  said: 

"Shall  I  be  able  to  go  to-morrow,  doctor?" 

"I  think  so.  You're  pretty  weak,  but  the  season  is 
favorable  and  the  voyage  will  do  you  good.  I  have  just 
come  from  the  ship.  I  got  a  better  stateroom  for  you 
and  saw  the  doctor.  He  is  a  capable  man,  and  promised 
to  look  after  you.  I  will  see  that  you  are  safely  on  board 
myself.  But,  must  you  go?  Why  not  cable  Jamie  to 
come  here? 

"I  want  to  get  away." 

"I  don't  blame  you.  Well,  you  can  do  what  you  please 
now." 

The  doctor  took  the  check  George  had  left  from  his 
pocket,  looked  at  it  with  curiosity,  and  then  placed  it  on 
the  table  before  Claire.  "Endorse  this  over  to  your 
bank,  and  I  will  take  it  up  and  deposit  it.  Two  hundred 
thousand  dollars!  That  will  keep  the  wolf  from  the 
door!" 

"Oh,  but,  doctor,"  she  cried,  with  a  mixture  of 
despair  and  sorrow.  "I  have  given  for  it  something 
worth  so  much  more!  Something  I  shall  never  have 
again!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

The  stateroom  which  the  doctor  had  chosen  rather 
staggered  Claire  by  its  luxury  and  size,  and  yet  she  real- 
ized almost  at  once  his  reasons  for  taking  it.  The  jour- 
ney to  the  boat  left  her  far  more  exhausted  than  she 
would  have  thought  possible,  and  she  was  very  thankful 
for  the  real  bed  it  contained,  and  the  private  bathroom 
adjoining  it.  The  room,  too,  being  on  the  upper  deck,  had 
windows  instead  of  the  usual  port  lights,  and  its  door 
opened  into  a  passage  which  led  immediately  to  the  deck 
itself. 

For  three  days  Claire  did  not  leave  her  room,  content 
to  lie  nervelessly,  drinking  the  strong  air  of  the  sea, 
which  came  in  through  the  slatted  windows,  but  on  the 
evening  of  the  fourth  she  felt  so  much  stronger  that  she 
dressed  and  went  out.  The  deck  at  this  point  was  de- 
serted, and  leaning  against  the  railing  of  the  ship,  she 
stood  alone  in  the  immense  expanse  of  sky  and  ocean 
which  stretched  above  and  around  her.  The  sea  was 
calm.  Stars  were  beginning  to  show  in  a  pale  sky  from 
which  day  was  reluctantly  withdrawing.  From  time 
to  time  the  ship  lifted  slowly  to  an  indolent,  recurring 
swell.  She  looked  ahead.  Beyond  the  vast  reaches  of 
the  ocean  the  coast  of  France  lay,  and  Jamie  was  wait- 
ing for  her.  Hour  by  hour,  the  ship  was  bearing  her 
toward  a  world  recovering  slowly  from  a  recent  mad- 
ness, a  world  given  over  to  teeming  armies,  savagery, 


SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN  401 

ruin,  fire,  wounds,  and  death,  and  the  lurid  flash  of  guns 
settling  things  the  only  way  imperial  man  knows, 
finally,  how  to  settle  them.  And  in  the  wake  of  thunder 
and  darkness,  of  this  storm  of  war,  needs  more  bitter 
than  America  had  known  would  give  her  her  oppor- 
tunity. Her  distaste  of  what  her  life  had  lately  been, 
and  of  herself,  for  the  course  she  had  taken  in  order  to 
escape  from  it,  made  her,  in  her  sense  of  humiliation  and 
weakness,  long  for  another  chance  to  prove  what  she 
could  do.  She  had  been  too  utterly  alone,  but  in  this 
new  test  Jamie  would  be  near  her,  and  under  the  de- 
mands of  the  iron  necessities  of  the  hour,  she  would 
grow  strong,  careless  of  self,  self-reliant,  and  able  to 
bear  and  face  the  burden  she  had  irrevocably  shoul- 
dered :  the  burden  of  having  by  her  action  put  aside  her 
happiness  forever. 

She  stood  for  a  time  quite  motionless. 

Could  it  be  that  she  had  put  away  her  chances  for  the 
future  beyond  recovery? 

Felix  would  be  there  waiting  for  her.  Of  that  she  was 
certain.  Would  she  never  feel  that  she  might  send  for 
him?  Was  she  imposing  upon  herself  too  hard  a  penalty 
for  yielding  to  the  pressure  of  what  seemed  an  extreme 
necessity?  She  could  not  tell.  The  future  alone  would 
show.  She  had  made  a  bargain  so  repugnant  to  her 
sense  of  self-respect  that  she  could  not  rid  herself  of  the 
feeling  that  she  had  indelibly  stained  herself  and  that 
it  would  be  impossible  for  her  ever  to  make  use  of  a 
freedom  secured  as  she  had  secured  hers. 


402  SPENDTHRIFT  TOWN 

And  yet  —  beyond,  lay  Europe  ill,  wounded,  starving. 
Perhaps  through  the  very  efforts  she  had  resolved  to 
make  —  and  she  would  see  to  it  that  they  did  not  spare 
her  —  she  would  find  in  time  that  her  stains  had  been 
worn  away. 

Ah,  if  she  could  believe  that,  she  could  face  the  future 
without  impatience  and  without  fear. 

At  a  distance,  toward  the  bow,  people  lounged  on  the 
lower  decks.  A  young  officer  above  her  leaned  idly 
against  the  rail,  looking  ahead.  Smoke  poured  from 
the  funnels  of  the  ship,  and,  with  the  foam  of  its  wake, 
streamed  backward  far  into  the  distance.  The  serenity 
of  the  hour  and  the  recuperative  agencies  at  work 
within  her  began  to  pour  a  balm  upon  her  wounded 
spirit.  Darkness  grew.  The  distance  became  a  soft  and 
formless  void.  Each  moment  now  myriads  of  worlds 
took  up  their  places  in  the  sky.  The  ship  lifted  slowly 
up,  up  to  the  mild  surge  of  the  sea. 


THE  END 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U  .  S  .  A 


2*i' 


VB  33006 


SS309293 


